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SALLIE’S NEWSPAPER 














%nWt Jtrtusppr 


A NOVEL BY 

EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS 

Author of Those About Trench , 

White Lightning , etc. 



CHICAGO 

HYMAN-McGEE CO. 

1924 


CvtK) 

1 I 










COPYRIGHT, 1924, by HYMAN-McGEE CO. 
CHICAGO, ILL. 

7Z» 









W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY 
PRINTED IN U. 8. A. 


AUG-I 1924 ' \\ 

_ \~X 

©C1A800341 \ 


-vwJ ^ 


CONTENTS 

PART PAGE 

I JANUARY; I924. I 

II February, 1924. 75 

III March, 1924. 183 

IV April, 1924. 247 

V May, 1924. 283 











SALLIE’S NEWSPAPER 



PART I 

JANUARY 

j 9 2 4 



ftaUif's Xlftospapfr 


PART I 

JANUARY 

I924 

I 



HE editor wrote, or rather typed, as follows 


The owner of this paper will arrive in town this 


evening, December 29, 1923, after an absence of six 
years. She is Miss Sara Durand Flower, who was born 
in Seganku in 1900. She is accompanied by her aunt, 
Miss Josephine Durand, and will occupy the Flower 
residence on High Street, at the corner of Lake. As 
previously announced in the Sun , the old place has been 
redecorated by a Seganku firm. 

Miss Flower is the granddaughter of Hodge Flower, 
who was born in Seganku in 1840. Her great-grand¬ 
father had settled here in 1839, finding here at that 
time only Gustav Schmit and two other pioneers. 
Hodge Flower made his first money in the cooperage 
business, but his first big money by building a small 
steamer to run between here and Milwaukee. His little 
dock at the mouth of the Seganku river became a ship¬ 
yard, and eventually his barges freighted coal to 
Seganku, whence he distributed it all over the state of 
Wisconsin. 

Hodge Flower furthermore organized the two chief 
business interests of Seganku, which are cheese and 
chairs. He built up the cheese business by importing 
skilled cheesemakers and by organizing the cheese deal- 


I 


2 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


ers. He built up the chair business by organizing the 
skill of German craftsmen who spread north from Mil¬ 
waukee and Sheboygan, following the belt of the hard¬ 
wood forests. 

Hodge Flower married Sara Durand of Green Bay 
in 1866. She died young, soon after the birth of her 
first child, Durand Flower. Hodge Flower never mar¬ 
ried again, and rarely left Seganku. 

Durand Flower, born 1867, married his cousin, Julie 
Durand, in 1887, and immediately left home. This 
very young man went to California, where he became 
identified with the oil interests and amassed a fortune 
of his own. He did not return to Seganku till shortly 
before his fathers death in 1902. After that he re¬ 
mained, though he made occasional trips west. He con¬ 
solidated the two estates in one, which is quite the 
largest fortune in Seganku. It is now the unshared prop¬ 
erty of Miss Flower, but is administered by the Flower 
Loan and Trust Company, that is to say by Henry 
Durant and Dromillard Schmit. 

Durand Flower and his wife had three children, of 
whom three died in childhood. The third lived in Se¬ 
ganku from the time she was four till the time she was 
seventeen. At the age of fourteen she lost both her 
parents. Many of our readers will recall the death of 
Mr. and Mrs. Durand Flower, which occurred in 1914 
as the result of an automobile accident on the North¬ 
western tracks. 

After this event their daughter probably did not wish 
to remain in Seganku, but did remain until she finished 
her high school course in 1917. She then removed with 
her aunt Josephine Durand to California, and there at¬ 
tended college. She received her degree in 1922, and 
since then has done a certain amount of traveling. Now 
she is returning to Seganku, apparently to stay. If so, 
it is a brave decision, and we have no shadow of doubt 
that the good people of Seganku will do their best to 
make things pleasant for her. 


January 


3 


Thus typed the editor, for the turn column of 
the front page, knowing very well that everybody 
would turn the page to finish the article. He double¬ 
decked his heading, stuck the copy on the copy-hook, 
and sat staring at his machine. 

He had virtually finished his work for the year 
1923. It had been a hard year, because his friends, 
the farmers, had suffered so. But after all they had 
suffered less than in 1921, and 1923 was like every 
other year. Human nature would be much the same 
in 1933 or 1943. The year 1953 was already 
ancient history; any editor could guess what it would 
be like. In 1953 there would be just as many hope¬ 
less lovers—meaning himself—as in 1923. 

Morna knew that Steve Dempsey was waiting 
for copy. So she took the story from the hook and 
carried it back to the composing room, which was 
merely one end of the long press room. There was 
room enough for a dozen linotypes instead of two. 

Morna Innisfail was the editor’s dark-eyed typist, 
who rattled off business letters as fast as he could 
dictate them. She was also his cost accountant, for 
he insisted on knowing exactly what his paper cost. 
He would have insisted just as strongly had he not 
been required to report the costs once a month to 
the Flower Loan and Trust Company. 

The editor was of course full of pity for brave 
Sallie Flower, sole survivor of her line. But he 
picked up a card, looked at his own name, and man- 


4 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


aged to pity himself as another sole survivor. 
“James Flower Fletcher, Editor Seganku Daily Sun,” 
might easily be a cousin of Sallie Flower, but he was 
no such person. He was merely one of the Fletchers 
who had advertised the Flowers for half a century, 
and he was likely to be the last Fletcher to do it, 
for he had no hope of marrying. 

It was in 1872 that Hodge Flower and James 
Fletcher established the paper as a weekly. Hodge 
was owner and James was editor. Thus Hodge 
assured himself an organ, but it proved to be a 
skittish one. The two men made a great team, but 
the off horse was always likely to shy. As boys they 
had played pirate on the river, and though Hodge 
could always make James walk the plank, James 
always swam ashore and reviled the tyrant with 
bitter eloquence. 

So in later years whenever James Fletcher thought 
Hodge Flower a pirate, he said so. And he said it 
in the official organ. Hodge repeatedly discharged 
him, but as Hodge really was more or less of a 
pirate, and as James always proved it, Hodge would 
presently mend his ways a little and beg James to 
resume. James was always willing to do so, and 
always printed an exact account of the quarrel. And 
so this wholesome business of building up Seganku 
by a remorseless pirate and a remorseless reporter 
went on till November of 1887, when James sud¬ 
denly died. 


January 


5 


The son, James Hodge Fletcher, then took over 
the editorial job and carried it for thirty-four years. 
During the first third of this time he was sued for 
libel about once a month, but was never ordered by 
any court to pay a single cent. 

And now the third generation was on the job. 
James Flower Fletcher, born in 1893, was thirty 
years old, had served as assistant editor from 1914 
to 1917, and then as an enlisted hospital orderly in 
France. He got home late in 1919, just in time to 
bury his father. His mother had been dead for 
years. 

During the war he had never dispatched a single 
letter to his paper, a fact which was distinctly 
against him when it came to choosing the new editor. 
But the Fletcher tradition was too strong for the 
Flower Loan and Trust Company to resist. The 
town heartily approved giving the doughboy a chance. 

Under the new editor the advertising advanced 
by leaps and bounds, but Seganku missed something 
in the paper. It had none of the blunt wrath of 
James Fletcher, and none of the urbane sarcasm of 
James Hodge Fletcher. Aside from the advertising, 
it was the driest of chronicles. 

As he scrutinized the card it occurred to J. F. F. 
that he had torn it out of a neat little leather book. 
He was now prepared to furnish such books within 
forty-eight hours, by telephoning copy to Milwaukee. 
So he turned to his typewriter and typed an ad. 


6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


He expected to meet the nine twenty-one from 
Chicago that evening, which was Saturday evening, 
but he did not intend to arrive at nine and hang 
around the station to pick up news. Henry Durand 
would certainly be there with his car, and Dromillard 
Schmit would also be there. And while Drom had 
been his lifelong acquaintance, Jim never went out 
of his way to meet Drom, for Drom was the aggres¬ 
sive member of the Flower Trust and Loan Com¬ 
pany, and was always trying to dictate to the paper. 

At nine twenty Jim sauntered into the station and 
looked at the various cars drawn up at the curb. 
Both limousines were there. Well, he could not 
criticize Drom for driving down in his own car. It 
now remained to be seen whether Drom would have 
the good taste not to invite Sallie to ride with him. 
Of course, if they were already engaged—but even 
then it would not be manners to tear the girl away 
from one uncle and two aunts. 

He wondered what Sallie’s first thought on arrival 
would be. He feared she might feel an impulse 
to walk to the south end of the platform and look 
down fifteen feet to where her father and mother 
were killed. 

Standing in the shadow, Jim could see the three 
expectant ones. Henry Durand had silvery hair and 
was inclined to a certain neat heaviness. Henry’s 
sweet wife was distinctly fat, and more ambitious 
than clever, and innocently judged all things by 


January 


7 


money and religion. She was engaged in earnest con¬ 
versation with Dromillard. 

Jim had called on Mrs. Durand the day before 
to ask for a recent picture of Sallie, and had been 
refused. She told him that the Sun made dreadful 
work of photographs, as indeed it sometimes did. 
She also remarked that it would be time enough to 
print a portrait when Sallie was wearing a wedding 
veil. Being asked if that would be soon, Mrs. 
Durand smiled wisely and said that she wouldn’t 
be surprised. 

As Jim stood in the shadow and remembered all 
this, he was not convinced that Mrs. Durand’s re¬ 
luctance was due to the Sun y s printing. Though his 
single-line web press was not built for cut work, it 
would certainly smudge a wedding-veil as easily as 
a countenance. No, the subterranean fact was that 
Mrs. Durand was not proud of Sallie’s looks. 

The train drew in, ponderous and resonant. From 
the parlor car two girlish figures were handed down 
by a black man who was finished in gray for just 
such survivals of ceremony. 

There were feminine embraces. There were 
kisses for Henry, but only handshakes for Drom. 
That tower of a man stood looking down with a 
proprietary air at the girl whose hand he was hold¬ 
ing, but he had evidently not secured her promise to 
marry him, or he would have kissed her. 

Jim strolled forward and spoke quietly. 


8 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Evening papers—all about it!” 

He produced two copies, and gravely handed them 
to Miss Josephine Durand, a person not more than 
five years his senior. She received them with amuse¬ 
ment, gave him her hand, introduced him as if he 
had never met her niece, and invited him to Sunday 
evening dinner. He noted carefully that she said 
dinner. 

Then Mrs. Henry Durand assumed charge of 
affairs. 

“You take Sallie,” said she to Drom, and he took 
her. He marched her off to his limousine with all 
the assurance in the world. He had corresponded 
with her for six years, and three times he had gone to 
see her in California. Apparently it was all over 
but the church bells. 

Jim watched the red light of the limousine till the 
darkness swallowed it up, a process which must 
have taken\ thirty seconds of clock time. Then he 
went home to his room in the antediluvian Jefferson 
House. 

And he sat up a while, looking at Sallie’s gradua¬ 
tion picture. He did not, in the ordinary sense of 
the word, love her. The passion of love is accom¬ 
panied by occasional dreams of possession, and Jim 
never dreamed. 

Nevertheless he worshipped her. This phenom¬ 
enon is so rare that the marriage service now omits 
the noble words, “with my body I thee worship.” 


January 


9 


It retains for the moment that other high-minded 
phrase, “with all my worldly goods I thee endow,” 
but doubtless this too will go, if only because bride¬ 
grooms get it twisted. Out of the fulness of the 
heart the mouth speaketh, and so they are exceed¬ 
ingly likely to say, “with all thy worldly goods I me 
endow.” The actual worship of girls, it must be 
repeated, is rare. The language of worship is com¬ 
mon enough, and the most rapacious Arab will call 
a girl a moon, seeming to imply that she is beauti¬ 
fully beyond him, but nevertheless he fully intends 
to capture the moon for his third or fourth delight. 

With Jim it was different, because Sallie had re¬ 
deemed him. Ten years ago he had graduated from 
college with a certain stain known only to himself 
and two classmates, for the women in such cases 
forget. He came home to be assistant editor, and 
almost his first act was to dispatch a reporter to the 
scene of the disaster that left Sallie an orphan. The 
news came by telephone, and he instantly went up 
to the Flower mansion to see if she had heard. He 
found the little girl of fourteen quite alone. It was 
he who broke the news to her, and held her head 
against his heart. The hour was a sort of new birth 
and consecration for Jim Fletcher. 

After that he watched her from a distance as she 
entered upon her young womanhood. Three years 
she grew in sun and shower. Then his enlistment 


10 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


took him far away from her, but she remained as 
sacred to him as in her hour of loss. 

She had returned at last, but she was not for him. 
Money would marry money, and he had no thought 
of trying to prevent it. 

II 

Next day, which was Sunday, he spent as usual at 
the office. Here he kept all his father’s books and 
most of his own, but on Sundays he usually read 
either the bible or the files of the Sun. He read the 
bible because it contained news from another world. 
He sometimes feared that the news had been released 
too soon or injured in transmission, but he studied 
it conscientiously. 

And he read the files of the Sun because they were 
the most interesting documents in psychology that 
he could find anywhere. He aspired to understand 
Seganku. This was a hard job, much harder than 
understanding the bible. In the bible you could 
usually tell which persons were sinners and which 
were saints, but the mixture in Seganku was beyond 
analysis. He began the new year by reading the 
Book of Acts, and trying to guess how the authors 
of it would have sized up Seganku. He had not 
reached any very satisfactory conclusion when at five 
o’clock he quit his Sunday task and went back to the 
Jefferson. 

Once more at home, he wondered whether he 


January 


II 


ought to put on evening clothes. It was Sunday, but 
the occasion was dinner, and this was the first eve¬ 
ning the newcomers were entertaining. Dromillard 
Schmit would doubtless be there, elegantly impres¬ 
sive in the evening clothes which he never trusted a 
Seganku tailor to make. Jim felt the need of an 
etiquette editor to tell him what to do. 

Having no such mentor, he got out his best shirt 
and looked at it. It was not recent. It was not one 
of the pleated and possible things that men wear 
to symbolize the purity and flexibility of their natures. 
Jim’s shirt had the texture of a medieval breastplate 
and the color of a whited sepulchre. He put it on, 
and topped it with a thin stiff noose of linen, as if 
about to be hanged. Then, to complete the melan¬ 
choly effect, he surrounded the noose with a band of 
mourning. He got into black breeches and a black 
jacket, and now resembled a Florentine knight lost 
in a flurry of paper and ink. 

But having made ready to go, he remembered that 
he was not competing with Drom, and so he shed 
all this hypocrisy and resumed his customary honesty, 
which was loose enough. 

He walked up to the Flower residence. It stood 
amid native oaks, and along the front of it were 
great musical elms planted by Hodge Flower and 
guarded with extreme care. It was large. It was of 
brick, and exactly the color of the ground under it. 
It had old pine trimmings newly painted. And in 


12 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


spite of its ornamentation it was a mere bubble of 
the local mud, disintegrated limestone become red 
clay. Jim always thought of things in this pictur¬ 
esque manner, and never wrote of them with the 
least picturesqueness. 

His eye strayed up to the handsome square cupola, 
which ought to be used for looking out over the 
lake. As a rule Seganku did not look at the lake. 
Seganku lived on the edge of a sapphire and never 
saw it. But perhaps Sallie would ascend into that 
box and become an observer. 

How improbable it was that there should be such 
a girl, so beautiful—he would have maintained it 
against the world—and so rich. She was three mil¬ 
lions rich. It was almost unbelievable that such an 
amount should be controlled from a place like 
Seganku. Three millions meant an income of a hun¬ 
dred and fifty thousand, and as little lost to the gov¬ 
ernment as Drom’s ingenuity could compass. 

He took a few steps toward the house, passing 
under an electric moon that Sam Glendower—of the 
Seganku Electric Company—had placed before the 
gate. On the porch he could see ghosts. There 
were Sallie’s two dead brothers, returned from the 
grave to dispute her claims. There were imaginary 
illegitimate uncles, half Injun, who denied her right 
to the cooperage, ship, coal, cheese, and chair money. 
There were California bastards ready to prove that 


January 


13 


her grandfather’s son never made any money in oil, 
or that, if he did, his daughter couldn’t have it. 

But as the dinner guest mounted the limestone 
steps to the great pine porch that concealed no knot 
beneath its glossy paint, the ghosts disappeared. He 
walked to the doorbell just as if what he had printed 
about Sallie were the exact -truth, and common 
enough at that. 

And when the maid let him in, he perceived that 
it was all so. His worst fears were realized. There 
sat the handsome Dromillard talking to Sallie as if 
he owned her. And Drom was wearing an ordinary 
business suit. Of course. Drom did not have to 
dress himself in the twelfth century and then undress 
himself before he knew what to wear. 

The Durands were sitting in the background, and 
though Jim was decently welcomed, he too joined 
the background. Drom went on explaining the busi¬ 
ness situation in America, and how somebody named 
Babson was a crape-hanger, and how everything 
was already on the up grade. Sallie listened bright¬ 
eyed. 

But it was again evident that no engagement ex¬ 
isted. Drom was taking too much pains for an en¬ 
gaged man. 

Moreover, it was not Mrs. Durand who was boss¬ 
ing the job tonight. The other aunt was delicately 
in command. Drom had to take Mrs. Durand in 


14 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


to dinner, Uncle Henry took Sallie, and Jim had 
the honor of following with Miss Josephine. 

“It seems good to taste whitefish again, Uncle 
Harry. Do they still catch them right off shore ?” 

“No, almost never, but they caught these there. 
Drom had a boat out for a whole week, just to please 
you.” 

“That,” said Miss Josephine, “is what I would 
call utter etiquette.” 

“Miss Durand,” said Jim, “will you please con¬ 
sent to edit a little department called Utter Eti¬ 
quette?” 

“I’ll think about it. Certainly ordinary etiquette 
is nothing when compared with Drom’s.” 

“Don’t you make fun of him, Aunt Jo. I think 
it was awfully nice of Drom to do that for me. 
Has Jim recorded it in the Sun?” 

“Yes, Miss Flower. That is, I’ve recorded the 
boat, though I didn’t know whose it was.” 

“If you had known he was fishing for me—I mean 
catching fish for me—would you have said so?” 

“No, Miss Flower.” 

“Why not?” 

“Too personal.” 

“Are you afraid of Drom?” 

“Terribly. 

Sallie looked at him thoughtfully, separated a but¬ 
tery brown flake of hot fish, and held it up on her 
fork. 


January i5 

“If we tell all the news about fishes, mustn’t we 
tell all the news about fishermen?” 

“No, because fishermen are natural born liars.” 

“If you mean me,” observed Dromillard Schmit, 
“you may do your damnedest.” 

“I’m sure,” said sweet fat Mrs. Durand, “that 
our Drom has nothing to conceal.” 

Sallie smiled. “Of course he has things to con¬ 
ceal. He conceals them even from me. He man¬ 
ages to tell me nothing whatever about my invest¬ 
ments. Jim has a perfect right to express his opinion 
of Drom in my paper, and Drom has a perfect right 
to answer back.” 

“I’m afraid,” continued sweet fat Mrs. Durand, 
“that that would cultivate too much bravery in both 
young gentlemen.” 

“Well, Auntie, isn’t bravery always good news? 
Don’t you suppose I’m grateful to Jim for what he 
said about me in last night’s paper? He called me 
brave, and that makes me braver. His article was 
just plain, cold, dry facts up to the last sentence, 
and then he flattered me with that one nice word.” 

“Thank you, Miss Flower.” 

“Won’t you please call me Sallie, as you did long 
ago?” 

“Thank you, Sallie.” 

Drom scowled. “It’s proper to print the news, and 
I don’t care what he says about me, but your prin¬ 
ciple is all wrong. You’ve simply got to tell him to 
keep his personal opinions out of news.” 


16 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Dromillard Schmit, don’t you dare tell me what 
I’ve got to do. But if you don’t want Jim to print 
his opinions along with the news, where shall he 
print them?” 

“In his editorials, where they belong.” 

“Have you ever seen an editorial written by Jim?” 

“No, but I never told him to cut them out.” 

“Why did you do it, Jim?” 

“To make room for advertising.” 

“I’ve noticed,” said Sallie, “that you do carry an 
awful lot of advertising. Outsiders talk to Seganku 
folks every day, as if they could make money here, 
which of course they can’t.” 

“But,” said Jim, “they can and do. This is a rich 
town, and has not been upset very much.” 

“I’ve noticed too,” went on Sallie, “that the local 
merchants write very good advertisements.” 

Uncle Henry smiled. “That’s a good deal for 
you to notice, my dear. Jim writes all those ads 
himself, and so you get paid by both sides.” 

“Yes,” cut in Dromillard, meaning to give a square 
deal even to an enemy, “Jim is the man who made 
Zone Seven famous.” 

“And what is Zone Seven?” 

“Zone Seven is Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, 
and Michigan. It contains a fifth of the country’s 
wealth, and Jim has persuaded a good many national 
advertisers to concentrate their efforts in his Zone 
Seven.” 


January 


17 


“It’s not mine,” said Jim. “I got the phrase from 
a young genius on the Chicago Tribune” 

“Just the same,” said Drom, finding himself 
driven to generosity, “it was an argument of yours 
that gave the name to the Zone Seven Utilities Com¬ 
pany.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Then I’m telling you. I had it from Glendower 
himself, the president of the company. You see, Sal- 
lie, that Jim really makes money for you.” 

“I’m sorry. I’d rather he wrote editorials.” 

“Sallie,” said Uncle Henry, “Mr. Fletcher’s ad¬ 
vertisements are seen, read, understood, believed, 
and acted on. If you’ll come down to the office, I’ll 
show you the sum that each subscriber is paying you. 
It is more than twice as much as the subscription 
price.” 

“What do I care!” cried Sallie. “I didn’t know 
that my editor was just an advertiser. I think it’s 
disgusting. It makes my paper a back number. I 
don’t mind its being independent in politics, but it 
ought to be leading public opinion, not conducting 
a dog fight.” 

“But,” said Uncle Henry, “we rather believe in 
dog fights. You can’t beat the business game. We 
don’t believe that advertising is waste, and we don’t 
believe there is any better means of guiding public 
opinion.” 

“That,” said Sallie, “seems to me perfectly 
absurd. I believe you folks are afraid of Jim.” 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Here Jim came to the rescue. “Folks wouldn’t 
care for my editorials. They prefer those that I col¬ 
lect from all over the country.” 

“How do you know they do?” 

“It’s common sense. I haven’t the ability to gen¬ 
eralize.” 

“Why, Mr. Fletcher,” said sweet fat Mrs. 
Durand, “I’m sure I’ve heard you make the most 
interesting generalizations. Everybody says you are 
so delightful in conversation, and so—” she hesi¬ 
tated. 

“Dull with the typewriter?” 

“No, not exactly, but sort of different. When you 
talk, you’re just grand.” 

“But, dear Mrs. Durand, the grand style exists 
in journalism when a noble nature, locally gifted, 
treats with simplicity or severity a local subject. 
Doesn’t that describe the style of the Sun?” 

“Why, I suppose it’s all right to describe yourself 
as noble, but Dromillard is noble too, only he doesn’t 
mention it before folks.” 

“Dear Mrs. Durand, I admit that Dromillard is 
noble, but I can’t admit that he is locally gifted. He 
doesn’t know this town. He is president of the 
chamber of commerce, but he doesn’t study the build¬ 
ing sites as your husband does, and he doesn’t read 
the paper as you and I do. You and I are aware 
that Mrs. Imig Hamperkrazel has had her husband’s 
signature chiseled in gold on his tombstone, exactly 


January 


19 


as he wrote it. It had a good many curlicues, but 
the Sun did not presume to say whether it had too 
many. The Sun cannot undertake to lead public 
opinion in such matters. It merely records the fact, 
like a tombstone.” 

“Exactly,” exclaimed Sallie. “To read the Sun, 
you’d think Seganku a graveyard. Everything ex¬ 
cept the advertisements is monumentally dull. It 
never records anybody’s opinion about anything.” 

“Well,” said Jim, “if you could see the pile of 
opinions that collects on my desk, you’d want very 
few of them printed. We call it propaganda. It 
comes by mail and pretends to be news, but it isn’t. 
There are about a million persons in America who 
want free advertising in Seganku.” 

“Of course,” said Sallie, “I don’t mean them. But 
don’t you think that the Sun ought to stir up discus¬ 
sion?” 

“About what? My father had an editorial friend 
out in Kansas who used to stir up discussion about 
babies. He threw out the suggestion that girl babies 
have to be spanked at twelve months, while boy 
babies can safely go unspanked till sixteen months. 
But I have always felt that even babies have some 
rights and ends that an editor is bound to respect.” 

Sallie laughed, but returned to the charge. 

“The Sun prints babies’ names and children’s 
names and adults’ names. But I tell you that these 
persons have no opinions. They go to school and 


20 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


grow up and attend church and rejoice to see their 
names in the paper, but before they come to any 
opinions they have to answer the call. Nobody dies 
in Seganku—they just answer the call.” 

Jim blushed. “I can’t exactly explain that they 
have kicked the bucket.” 

“No, I suppose not. But I hope that when Uncle 
Henry dies, you’ll say something more appropriate 
to a banker.” 

“Shall I say his loans have been called?” 

“Yes, or that he’s cashed in.” 

“And I,” said Aunt Josephine, “secretly desire to 
kick the bucket.” 

“I should never have suspected it, Miss Durand, 
but your desire shall be sacred in the morgue, by 
which I mean the corner where I keep the biogra¬ 
phies of registered persons and cows, ready to print. 
I intend to do the right thing by the lady who holds 
a record for butter, and when you kick in, I will send 
a beautiful bucket done in daisies.” 

“That,” said Aunt Josephine calmly, “would be 
very sweet of you.” 

Mrs. Henry Durand was gazing at them both in 
horror, but Jim went on: 

“Of Mrs. Durand I shall merely report that she 
has perished. To perish means to go through. Mrs. 
Durand will go through with utter etiquette, and 
emerge on the other side of Jordan.” 


January 


21 


“I hope so,” said Mrs. Durand, dreadfully 
shocked but without a leg to stand on. 

“As for Drom,” continued the Suddenly Emanci¬ 
pated, “the Sun will say that he has at least quit the 
game.” 

“Before I quit the game,” exploded Drom, “I’ll 
see that we have a newspaper in Seganku, not a comic 
daily.” 

“Now, Drom,” protested Sallie, “you know very 
well that some things in Seganku are comic, and to 
leave them out is to fail to print the news. You’re 
just a little bit comic yourself, aren’t you, when you 
get excited over Jim’s nonsense? I’m so glad to 
learn that he is capable of nonsense. All I ask for in 
my paper is a few facts and a few honest opinions 
about them, and if Jim can tinge the news with 
humor, so much the better.” 

“If I could get at the facts—I mean chiefly the 
ultimate economic facts—” said Jim, “that would be 
more important than any of my opinions. That 
would give national news local interest. But I have 
to take what the news-gathering associations send 
me, and half of it is associated guess.” 

“Facts,” observed Miss Josephine slowly, “seem 
to be hard to arrive at. And when you get them they 
are usually disgusting.” 

“Correct, Miss Durand. And there are a great 
many facts besides disgusting facts that no news¬ 
paper can print. Domestic relations are entitled to 


22 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


absolute privacy. Personal conversations are sacred. 
Suppose I should print the conversation we have been 
having tonight.” 

“I should not object,” said Sallie. “I am not look¬ 
ing for notoriety, but I don’t care if you tell the 
whole truth about me, homely looks and all.” 

The answer stunned him. Here was real great¬ 
ness ! Here was a girl the like of whom he had 
never heard of, read of, or dreamed of. 

It was with difficulty that he rallied enough from 
his amazement to inquire how much publicity she 
preferred for her future dinners. She replied that 
she wasn’t intending to give any dinners. She sup¬ 
posed that the old friends might drop in sometimes 
for a meal, and that in turn she would be glad to 
accept biddings to their family boards, but that she 
had lived through enough society dinners to last her 
a long time. 

The only married woman she especially cared to 
see again was her neighbor, Mrs. Glendower, whose 
husband was doing his best to surpass Sallie’s for¬ 
tune, and whose son Taliesin she remembered very 
well. 

“But I’m not dying to see even Mrs. Glendower. 
I remember that she always went in for the trim¬ 
mings pretty strong, and left the education of her 
children to a governess. Did Taliesin condescend 
to attend the high school?” 

“Oh, yes, and led everything. Cleverest boy the 


January 


23 


town ever turned out. He entered the high school 
the year after you left, and is now a senior in the 
University of Chicago.” 

“Impossible, Jim. The boy was at least five years 
younger than I.” 

“Sallie, that’s the first conceited thing you ever 
said.” 

Sallie laughed, and repeated her statement that 
there would be no doings in the big house, and that 
she wanted everybody who had an opinion about 
anything to express it in the Sun. 

Jim felt himself growing light-headed with the 
intoxication of these revelations. Furthermore, he 
had a dim sense that there were more to come. This 
surprising young person had apparently laid all her 
cards on the table, but she was deep. Like her 
grandfather, this girl might any day explode a bomb 
under the editorial chair. 

Under the circumstances he made his adieus early 
and got away. He reeled homeward, and paused 
before the antediluvian Jefferson House, the only 
hotel that Glendower had not persuaded to use elec¬ 
tricity. It was long and wooden and warped, and 
had eight windows in the second story. Four of 
these were dark as pitch, but all seemed to blaze 
with millennial glory. This tavern would some day 
be pointed out as the dwelling of the most truthful 
journalist that ever lived. 


24 Sallie’s Newspaper 

III 

On Tuesday he began his new and perilous career. 
It was a legal holiday for all save newspaper men, 
and his first impulse was to brighten the holiday 
with an exact account of the dinner. He needed no 
stenographic report of what had been said. He was 
a reporter unto the second and third generation, 
trained to remember anything for twenty-four hours. 

But on the whole he would begin less abruptly. 
He had all sorts of suppressed fact and opinion to 
draw on, and he would begin with local history. 
Therefore he wrote: 

At the beginning of the year 1924 probably not ten 
persons in Seganku, a city of thirty thousand, know the 
meaning of the word “Seganku.” Everybody knows 
that it is Indian, just as Milwaukee, Sheboygan, and 
Manitowoc are Indian, but the original sense of all 
these words is forgotten, and this is a disgrace to us all. 

Ask a German, and he will tell you the following 
fairy tale: “The first settler, Gustav Schmit, came here 
from Green Bay in 1838, driving his cow before him 
and leaving the d of his name behind him. The night 
that he reached the Seganku river the cow strayed away. 

In the morning he asked the Indians if they had seen 
his ‘kuh,’ and they assured him that she was in the 
woods, not far distant. He told them that he liked the 
place, and asked the name of it. Just then the lost cow 
emerged from the woods, and the Indians exclaimed, 
‘See again kuh!’ Gustav took this tender for true pay, 
and ever after called the place Seganku.” 

Now this explanation is impossible for many reasons, 
but there is no need of reciting them. The Sun has 
been in possession of the facts for forty years, but Hodge 


January 


25 


Flower did not want them printed, and Dromillard 
Schmit does not want them printed. 

The word Seganku means skunk. Anybody can 
prove it by looking in Webster’s dictionary under the 
word skunk. 

The place was named by Michel Dromillard, an 
agent of the Northwestern Fur Company. He came to 
this region in 1799, and never returned to Quebec, but 
settled in Green Bay. Michel was a half-breed, his 
mother being a full-blooded Abnaki, and he named Se¬ 
ganku from the lay of the land. 

If you get up on a high place, say the cupola of the 
Flower mansion, and look at the pattern described by 
river and shore, you will perceive that we are indeed 
built upon a skunk. The river curves in such a way as 
to form the back of just that critter. The nose lies 
about two miles west, and the tail is the sandy peninsula 
which forms the south side of our harbor. It is a thick 
tail, for the sandspit is nearly a hundred feet high, and 
the boats are sheltered by this gigantic brush. 

Such are the facts, but Hodge Flower was afraid that 
the town would be laughed at if they were disclosed. 
Hodge Flower’s granddaughter has no fear of facts. 

Our case is no worse than that of Chicago. Shegank 
and Shecaug mean the same thing. Chicago means 
place of skunks. When it was an Indian fishing village 
surrounded by piles of fish-heads, it was haunted by 
pole-cats, who are just as fond of fish as other cats are, 
and Ojibway children knew enough to leave the pussies 
alone. The seven wise men of Chicago think that their 
town was named for wild onions. Why Onionville is 
better than Skunkville we fail to see, but Chicago does 
not mean place of wild onions. That would be a dif¬ 
ferent word, Chicagowunzo. 

We grant that the original skunk perceived by 
Michel Dromillard was imaginary, but so is the forty- 
fourth parallel, on which Oshkosh and Seganku are 
situated. There are a good many towns situated on this 


2 6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


parallel, and most of them are imaginary. A real town 
is one which has a soul of its own, and respects it. In 
a real town everybody knows everybody else, and 
co-operates. 

In two respects Seganku comes nearer being a real 
town than the other Skunkville down near the forty- 
first parallel. In the first place seventy-seven percent 
of the houses in Seganku are owned by the people who 
live in them, as against twenty-seven percent in Chicago. 
The difference is partly due to Henry Durand, who 
uses the Flower money wisely to help common folks 
build homes. 

In the second place, while there are many courts of 
justice in Chicago, their execution of justice is partly 
imaginary. There is only one court of justice in Se¬ 
ganku, but it brings every criminal to trial on the day of 
arrest. A real skunk promptly punishes anybody that 
kicks him. Chicago doesn’t know when it is kicked. 

When a Chicago criminal tries to operate in Seganku, 
this skunk of a town fills his clothes so full of justice 
that he makes haste to bury them and wear stripes. 
The Editor of the Sun was once drunkenly acquainted 
with a certain Chicago sport who disgraces the name of 
banker without being caught, and who has seduced at 
least five girls without being caught. He is married, 
but his wife refuses to live with him. Should he ever 
try to operate in Seganku, he will taste the perfume of 
Seganku. 

Having written thus, Jim was like a collie who 
has tasted blood. In his last paragraph he refrained 
with difficulty from naming the person alluded to. 
He meant Charles Agoolya, sometimes called 
Charlie the Garlic Banker, from frauds practiced 
upon the hard-working sons of Sicily, Calabria, and 
Apulia. These men, of necessity, put their trust 


January 


27 


in men who can speak their own tongue. Usually 
they are not betrayed, but Charles and his brother 
Angelo so betrayed them that the unrelated family 
of Aguglia hated the very sound of their name. 

There was no use in naming Charles, and so Jim 
turned his attention to a man nearer home. This 
was Drom. Drom was no villain, but he was more 
or less of an autocrat, and Jim felt in the mood 
to say so. The biography ran as follows: 

Dromillard Schmit, born 1894, is the great-grandson 
of Wilhelm Schmit of Brandenburg, a Lutheran pastor 
who was imprisoned for opposing the merging of the old 
Lutheran church with the Reformed church. Wilhelm 
had a son Gustav, who left Brandenburg and came to 
America. It was Gustav who in 1838 drove his famous 
cow to Seganku. Tradition has it that he brought her 
all the way from the Elbe, but this is incorrect. He 
bought her in Green Bay. 

Elsewhere in this issue we have exploded the cow, 
not as a cow, but as the godmother of Seganku. She 
might more properly be called the godmother of the 
whole state. At all events she laid the foundations of 
Dromillard’s fortune. We don’t know what this 
amounts to, but are guessing that it is a hundred thou¬ 
sand, which is enough for any man. 

Gustav Schmit set the fashion of going to Green 
Bay after French brides. This was curious in the son 
of a Lutheran pastor, and rather alienated the family 
from the Lutheran fold, but we cannot blame Gustav, 
for he captured the charming Marie Dromillard. She 
was partly Indian, and so Drom has a tinge of Indian 
blood himself, as will be seen when he gets out on the 
warpath after the scalp of his old companion in mischief, 
for writing this biography. 

Marie was noted far and wide for her vivacity and 


28 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


beauty. Her grandson is not vivacious except when 
discussing cheese, but he is handsome, haughty, and 
strong as an ox. 

Dromillard Schmit fought bravely in France, and 
made a good lieutenant. Nevertheless he was sometimes 
a bit reckless, and so he and half his battalion were cap¬ 
tured by the Germans. But he sounded so natural to his 
captors, addressing them all as “verdammter Esel,” that 
he was treated with much respect. 

And he has great business ability. He is not only 
a trusted banker, but he is the newly elected president 
of the Seganku Association of Commerce. To hold this 
important position at the age of thirty is proof enough 
of his ability. 

Dromillard is not a relative of his good friend Miss 
Sandowina Schmidt, who spells her name with a d, and 
who is locally famous for her physical strength. Miss 
Sandowina showed prodigious strength even in infancy, 
and was therefore named for the renowned Sandow 
by her handsome mother, the wife of the wholesale 
grocer, Hugo Schmidt. Hugo is often called Sauer¬ 
kraut Schmidt, because he makes the best sauerkraut on 
earth, but he prefers to be called Utility Schmidt, from 
his large holdings in Sam Glendower’s Seganku Electric 
Company. 

Miss Sandowina is very good-looking, and has been 
approached by managers with offers of engagements to 
exhibit her strength in public. We think that such ex¬ 
hibition would increase respect for womanhood, but be¬ 
fore she becomes a celebrity we should like to see her 
married to some splendid fellow who would act as her 
manager, and stand between her and dissolute theatrical 
men. Not everybody she meets will be so innocent as 
the editor, who has tried to flirt with her at the risk of 
being tossed out the window. 

Dromillard Schmit has only two serious faults. He 
is slightly autocratic, and he enjoys setting the price of 
cheese. We don’t like to see a banker branch out into 


January 


29 


cheese. This youngster has organized a cheese board of 
his own, and has diverted much of the business of two 
other boards, to the disgust of our neighboring town of 
Plymouth. We don’t mind his cutting out Plymouth, 
but he is slowly undermining confidence in the Wiscon¬ 
sin Cheese Association, which co-operatively markets 
about ten percent of all Wisconsin cheese. We hope 
that Drom will see the error of his ways. He should 
remember that a cheese board tends to become a chess 
board, and that the object in chess is to kill the king. 
Surely, now that the war is over, Drom doesn’t wish to 
kill any kings. 

As all Seganku had plenty of leisure that after¬ 
noon, these two articles arrested a good deal of at¬ 
tention. The boys who sold papers began to come 
back for more. Their young captain, John Capps, 
said that everybody was laughing. This was an 
exaggeration on the part of John, for nothing could 
have produced general laughter in staid Seganku. 

IV 

In the evening Jim went up to Sallie’s to see how 
she took it. Mr. and Mrs. Glendower were call¬ 
ing, but they presently departed, knowing that how¬ 
ever much they might desire to see the fight, it was 
improper to remain. 

But Sallie was wearing her burden of responsi¬ 
bility nobly. 

“What you said about Seganku was perfect. And 
though what you said about Drom was cruel, it will 
do him good. But aren’t you afraid of the girl 
who spells her name with a d?” 


30 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Yes, I am.” 

“How old is she?” 

“Not quite twenty-one.” 

“Have you really been flirting with her?” 

“No.” 

“Has she been making love to you?” 

“No, she is sweet on Drom. But I do go to see 
her now and then, because she needs brotherly ad¬ 
vice. Sandowina has the making of a great lady 
in her, only she’s likely to come to grief, because 
she is fond of fine clothes. She rules her parents 
with a rod of iron, and speaks a distressing mix¬ 
ture of good German and bad English. I go around 
there sometimes to praise her mother’s virtues, on 
which occasions Sandowina makes me German pan¬ 
cakes and tells me that some day she won’t do any 
cooking for anybody.” 

“Jim, you are a missionary.” 

“Sallie, our Society Editor is syndicated stuff, and 
I’m tired of it. I have hopes that your aunt will 
conduct a little department called Etiquette. Will 
you please persuade her to do this for us?” 

“Why, I’ll speak to her about it, but such a de¬ 
partment would be very little compared with what 
we ought to do. It seems to me that you are pretty 
slow to perceive the possibilities.” 

Jim glanced at her sharply. 

“Have I missed a scoop? Have you come home 
to put a little money into the home paper?” 


January 


3i 


She clapped her hands delightedly. 

“I’m so proud of you! I didn’t have to tell you 
after all.” 

“Thank you kindly, but a subsidy without strings 
is unheard of. You want to buy me.” 

“How can you be so unkind, Jim! I just want 
to pay my honest debts to this town. And don’t you 
see that I’m afraid of Drom?” 

“You mean you won’t marry him?” 

“No, I don’t mean that, and I can’t very well 
discuss it at present. But I am the daughter of 
cousins, and my two brothers died. It is very neces¬ 
sary for me to marry a strong man who is not in 
the least related to me.” 

“I’m not related to you,” said Jim. 

“You,” said Sallie severely, “would be better off 
if you had some of my grandfather’s business sense. 
I wish to marry the man who is strongest and hand¬ 
somest and keenest commercially.” 

“Alas,” sighed Jim, “all romance seems to have 
departed from earth.” 

“Yes, it mostly has. At least it has for a girl 
whose face is not her fortune. I wish to do some 
good in the world, and the best way is to marry a 
strong, handsome, brainy business man.” 

Jim sighed again. 

“I admire your bravery, Sallie, but your theory 
of marriage sounds like a column in the Breeder’s 
Gazette. Besides, you are a very beautiful woman.” 


3 2 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Jim, your duties as editor do not include telling 
lies about the owner’s looks. But I wish to say this: 
Whoever marries me isn’t going to dictate what I 
shall do with my money.” 

“I can well believe that. Your husband will come 
to his senses.” 

“Jim, I don’t want him to come to his senses so 
late. I want him educated first.” 

“Meaning Drom?” 

“Meaning anybody who finally dares propose to 
a homely woman.” 

“But Drom would do for an example, wouldn’t 
he?” 

“Yes, if you think him likely to propose.” 

“Heavens, that man is likely to come here any 
minute and propose!” 

“Jim, I hope he won’t till we get him educated. 
It is business brains that are most useful to the 
world, only they have to be educated. You know 
that, and you could do a great deal to improve Drom 
if you only would.” 

“I? How?” 

“By means of the paper.” 

“I see. You’ve thought it all out.” 

“No, that’s just what I haven’t done. I want 
you to think it out for me. There’s an ideal busi¬ 
ness man in my mind, but I don’t know enough to 
describe him. I want you to formulate him. Drom 
will see whatever you write and mold himself on 


January 33 

that ideal. If you love Drom, you can do him a 
great deal of good.” 

“Sallie, I don’t love him, and I don’t see how 
I can do him any good. But I love you, and if you 
told me to jump through a stone wall, I’d jump, and 
leave it to the Good Lord to get me through.” 

“That’s perfectly sweet of you, Jim. I do want 
to make Drom the noblest citizen of Seganku. 
There’s a banker in Chicago that I’d like him to 
remind me of when he’s fifty. It is Mr. Frank John 
Alexander, and I met him in California. He is al¬ 
most as handsome as Drom, except that his hair 
is gray. He has the kindest heart! He helps all 
the settlements and colleges and music associations, 
and lends wonderful pictures so that even the poor¬ 
est can enjoy them.” 

“Well,” said Jim, “couldn’t our combined efforts 
get our young president of the association of com¬ 
merce into Mr. Alexander’s bank, so that he could 
pattern after that paragon? I know one of Mr. 
Alexander’s vice-presidents. He owed his viceness 
to bringing a friend’s deposit account along with 
him.” 

“Jim, that wouldn’t do at all. It is Seganku, not 
Chicago, that I wish to benefit. I’m sure that an 
ideal newspaper is the best means of educating Se¬ 
ganku and Drom at the same time. So I stand 
ready to put thirty thousand dollars into the Sun 
every year.” 


34 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Jim clutched the solid arms of Hodge Flower’s 
old hand-made chair, and his eyes took on a wild 
lost look. Then he came to, swallowed, and gently 
removed her hand from his arm. 

“The present circulation is about five thousand, 
but this town and the surrounding country are good 
for fifteen thousand.” 

“At three cents?” 

“I think so.” 

“Shall we reduce it to one cent?” 

“No. People ought to respect the news and pay 
for it. But for three cents we’ll give them a paper 
that will cost twelve to make.” 

“Then please go to Chicago and buy new equip¬ 
ment. Will the present building do?” 

“It will, and tomorrow I’ll print your name an 
inch tall.” 

“Won’t you please not?” 

“Now, look here, Sally. I knew there was some 
string. You hand me the best piece of news in a 
hundred years, and then won’t let me print it.” 

“Jim, you shall have your way in everything. 
If you are mean enough to spread me clear across 
your front page, go ahead and do it. But do you 
fancy that any girl likes to see her name in big type? 
Doesn’t it look as if she had been arrested? I’d 
love to see everybody’s name in the paper every day, 
but I don’t see how you can manage it unless you 
discard big type.” 


January 


35 


“Advertising, too?” 

“Why, I guess so. What we want is news, and 
it is no news that some big fellow wants all the 
trade. Couldn’t we have two or three reporters do 
nothing but gather news of the stores? Couldn’t 
they speak kindly of them all, but justly?” 

“We could try it, though I see trouble ahead.” 

“You’re awfully nice to me, Jim. And if you’ll 
please break your contracts, I’ll settle, and then we 
can give the advertisers more publicity than ever. 
And please let’s take all the news quietly.” 

Jim shook his head. 

“I’m afraid the folks wouldn’t buy a tame daily 
directory, even at one cent. They like to be scared.” 

“But can’t you scare them without big headings? 
Suppose the telephone directory had a real news 
item after each name? Wouldn’t that make a pretty 
good newspaper?” 

“You’d make us a city of egotists, Sally. There 
really are such things as churches and clubs and 
congress.” 

“Oh, I suppose you’ll have to have some head¬ 
ings, but won’t you please make them small, and 
arrange them alphabetically?” 

“Why, what on earth are you proposing? Don’t 
I have any front page any more?” 

“You are the dictator, Jim. All the same, I 
think you are secretly sick of front pages.” 

“Certainly not. They save time. Nobody could 
find anything in a paper alphabetically arranged.” 


36 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Jim, they shouldn’t be allowed to find just the 
things they want to know about. That makes peo¬ 
ple overlook everything important, and grow nar¬ 
row and small, and quote the paper to support their 
own prejudices. Front pages are impertinent. They 
pretend to offer the most important news, but isn’t 
some little scientific discovery always more impor¬ 
tant than politics?” 

“Certainly, if one could see so far ahead.” 

“And aren’t the doings of unpainted girls in Se- 
ganku more important than the doings of painted 
girls anywhere?” 

“Yes, of course, and that’s the sort of reason why 
I’d like to play up the really important things on 
the front page.” 

She laughed. “You mustn’t mind me, Jim. I’m 
sure you could print a perfectly wonderful news 
summary on the front page, and be alphabetical 
after that. I’d read every word of every issue.” 

“Sallie, that’s because you are a reader.” 

“Well, isn’t everybody a reader? Don’t we 
Americans read twice as much as any other nation 
reads? And don’t we read with the paper about a 
foot from the eyes? And isn’t the eye trained to 
small type, so that it overlooks the big type?” 

“Sallie, you couldn’t persuade an advertising man 
of that, not even if you hired the ghost of Patrick 
Henry to advocate it. And as for this alphabetical 
scheme of yours, it is a delusion. No reader could 


January 37 

find a piece of news if he had to find the heading 
first.” 

“Jim, I tell you I don’t want our readers to pick 
and choose. Didn’t you define a real town as one 
where everybody knows everybody else, and co-op¬ 
erates? That’s just my idea. I want everybody to 
know everybody else, and learn to be charitable. But 
if any news seemed to you very important, you could 
tell it over under many headings, and show how it 
affected each business in town. I have perfect con¬ 
fidence in your ability to work out this scheme, which 
is the only really democratic scheme ever proposed 
for a newspaper, even if I did invent it.” 

“Sallie, you overwhelm me with your genius. I 
must go home and think about it. I suppose you 
wouldn’t let me kiss your hand before I go.” 

“My hand? I don’t think so. It would only divert 
your mind from the news. I’d like it very much if 
you could put the daily facts in such shape that 
folks could keep them forever. Couldn’t you please 
reduce the page of the Sun to nine by twelve inches, 
and print it on book paper, so that each month 
would make a book about three or four inches thick? 
We could bind it for them free.” 

She ran to a desk and wrote a check. 

“Here’s ten thousand to start with, and I’ll let 
you have more as fast as you need it. And I’d like 
to change to the alphabetical system right away, 
so that they’ll get used to it before you change to 
magazine form.” 


38 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Jim put the check into his pocket and escaped into 
the bewildered night. Even then he was not safe, 
for she ran down the walk after him, and stood 
bareheaded beneath the musical frosty elms. 

“Please arrange for two pages daily of perfectly 
beautiful pictures. I’d like them all the same size— 
all the folks alike whether princes or paupers. You 
can photograph store windows and dresses, any¬ 
thing you please.” 

He smilingly promised, and sent her in out of the 


Next morning he considered his advertising. For¬ 
tunately he had never printed an advertisement for 
a patent medicine, had never cut a rate, and had 
accepted no contract for the current year that could 
not be cancelled at a day’s notice. His task was 
therefore easy. He went over his agreements, wrote 
a few checks, and dictated an invitation to each ad¬ 
vertiser to keep on sending copy, subject to revision. 

Then he explained in two columns of sixteen-point 
that hereafter all advertising would be free. It 
would be presented as news, and would not be dis¬ 
played. The owner was grateful for the patronage 
hitherto given the paper, and reserved only the right 
to revise. 

When he sent this thunderbolt in to be set, it nat¬ 
urally exploded and blew all hands into the sanctum. 


January 


39 


Linotypers, pressmen, reporters, and devil stood 
around him and viewed him with alarm. But after 
all he seemed no crazier than usual, and Morna 
sent them back to their work. 

After lunch he attacked the problem of layout. 
He decided to make the entire front page a concise 
summary, a complete newspaper. 

But inside he would try to humor Sallie. He 
would train his readers to find Accidents, Automo¬ 
biles, Babies, Banks, Bargains, Biographies, Births, 
Board, Butter, Chairs, Cheese, Chicago, Churches, 
Clubs, Coal, County, Crimes, Deaths, Drygoods, 
Eagles, Editorial, Eggs, England, Etiquette, Eu¬ 
rope, Famine, Farming, Gambling, Green Bay, Help 
Wanted, Jobs Wanted, Kiwanis Club, Lions’ Club, 
Love— 

Here he paused and started back, for he seemed 
to have omitted something. He tried again and got 
a totally different list: Airplanes, Answers, Auc¬ 
tions, Bakeries, Billiards, Booze, Bonus, Bowling, 
Broadcasting, Building, Business, Cameras, Chew¬ 
ing Gum, Children, Crops, Dancing, Dressmaking, 
Electricity, Engagements, Finance, Fish, Flirtations, 
Flour, Flower—he stopped again, quite dazed. 

Then it dawned upon him that he did not have 
to reprint the dictionary in every issue. He would 
merely alphabet his ads, and use them as a basis for 
inserting news items. And he would generally head 
each item with a single word. 


40 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


So he clipped all his ads, alphabeted them, and 
reduced them to ten-point. This gave him a series 
of short articles beginning with Automobiles and 
ending with Wanted to Rent. It really read very 
well. One article, however, was less mild than the 
others, running thus: 

Bakers.—All the bakers of Seganku 
are thieves and robbers. If they don’t 
lower the price of bread within a week, 
we shall ask the State Department of 
Markets to investigate them. So then, 
having called them thieves and robbers, 
though otherwise kind hearts and good 
citizens, we can tell you where to get 
some satisfaction in being robbed. 

Schultz is carrying some delicious rye 
bread that dries out very slowly. 

Grams has a coffee cake that is almost 
light, though no coffee cake is really 
light. Lange’s rolls are the nearest ap¬ 
proach to the famous fluffy things baked 
at the Jefferson House. Larousse is 
turning out decorated French pastries 
at fifteen cents each, and the girls adore 
them. The editor prefers pie, and rec¬ 
ognizes that Larousse’s pies are the 
best in town, but the rascal charges 
seventy cents apiece for them, because 
he can get it from certain folks who 
are setting a very bad example to the 
young by their extravagance. 

He felt rather proud of this article as a first at¬ 
tempt at justice in advertising. So he ventured an¬ 
other, and in choosing a heading for it he adopted a 
sort of principle: Name your article for the au¬ 
dience to whom it is addressed. He wanted Drom 
to read it, and therefore called it merely “Bankers.” 
It ran: 

Bankers. —We regret to say that we 
never had the courage to print a cer¬ 
tain rumor that reached us two years 
ago. It is said that in May, 1920, at 


January 


4i 


the dictation of a group of private 
bankers, the Federal Reserve Board is¬ 
sued orders which meant deliberate de¬ 
flation of monetary values and squeez¬ 
ing the country banks. On communi¬ 
cating with Henry Kranz, president of 
the Wisconsin Cheese Association, we 
learn that Mr. Kranz does not believe 
it. We shall be glad if any of our 
local bankers will refute it in our col¬ 
umns. Very likely the New York bank¬ 
ers were themselves pinched, but even 
the possibility that the ruin of thou¬ 
sands of farmers was precipitated by 
our central banking organization is 
tragic. 

This article was meant to arouse in Drom a will¬ 
ingness to take part in open discussion of financial 
matters. This would be educating Drom and Se- 
ganku at the same time. 

On Thursday he received an early call from 
Lange to speak for the bakers and assure him that 
the price of bread would immediately be lowered. 
No baker but Larousse was angered, and Larousse 
was calming down. 

But that same day he had to record a suicide. A 
young farmer named Dirck Kloot had hanged him¬ 
self in his barn. Jim drove over in his car to in¬ 
terview the widow. She emerged white-faced from 
the little bedroom where Dirck lay with his black¬ 
ened tongue sticking out, and explained. 

Dirck had not been able to meet his taxes, and 
the Flower Loan had refused to renew his notes. 
He had paid three hundred an acre for his little 
forty, after he got home from France. He had 
worked as hard as he could, but the bottom dropped 


42 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


out of everything in the summer of 1920, and they 
had never recovered. Yesterday they and their lit¬ 
tle boy had gone to town to get some flour, and 
while she was in the store Dirck bought a paper and 
read an article called “Bankers.” When she came 
out, he showed it to her and said, “It’s no use.” 
She didn’t understand the article herself. They 
drove home on their bob-sled, and he attended to the 
chores just as carefully as ever. After supper he 
said he was going over to see one of the neighbors. 
He was gone so long that she went out to the barn 
to see if the cattle were all right, and there she 
found him hanging! 

Jim went home wishing he had never been born. 
But that afternoon he printed the story just as he 
had heard it, and assumed part of the blame. He 
could not, he said, assume it all, for it was not the 
Sun that set the price of farm land. That was set 
by the increasing population of the country, and by 
callous-hearted rich men who acquired farm land 
to hold it for speculation. Only sixty percent of 
the farmers were now owners, and the number was 
steadily decreasing. On top of all this came the 
war and ruined the purchasing power of half the 
world. As a result of all these complications, a 
fourth of all the farmers in America became bank¬ 
rupt. 

That evening he went up to see Sallie. She made 
short work of the business. 


January 


43 


“If anybody is to blame for that man’s death, I 
am. But I’ve just had a talk with Uncle Henry, 
and he has agreed to consult me when in doubt about 
renewing notes. It seems that he favored extend¬ 
ing Mr. Kloot’s, but Drom was quite sure the man 
could pay it off.” 

Jim said nothing. 

“What troubles me now,” she went on, “is the 
possible effect of this suicide. I don’t want to dodge 
responsibility, but it seems to me that suicide is a 
sort of insanity, and we ought not to make too much 
of it. When you hear of one suicide, don’t you 
presently hear of another?” 

“They say so.” 

“Jim, didn’t you make this story pretty promi¬ 
nent?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Well, then, tomorrow you can say that it was 
all my fault.” 

“No, I can’t say that.” 

Sallie looked out of the window at the precious 
elm trees, and her face was deeply troubled. He 
read there a tenderness for Drom that seemed to 
him undeserved. 

“You must say what you think best, Jim. Don’t 
say, however, that I’m taking care of the widow 
and the boy.” 

With this cold comfort he departed, and wandered 
down to the railroad station. When Jim didn’t know 


44 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


where else to go, he went to the station. It had 
been his habit since boyhood, when as a cub he was 
sent to cover arrivals and departures. One of his 
own cubs did that now, but the old habit continued. 

The nine twenty-one from the south was due in 
ten minutes. He stood at the southern end of the 
platform, looking down at the street where Sallie’s 
parents met their death in 1912. Since then the 
railroad had been elevated to prevent such accidents, 
and the brick beneath his soles was about fifteen feet 
above the brick of the street An iron rail sug¬ 
gested the advisability of not walking off. 

He turned away from sad memories and saw 
Drom emerge from the waiting room, clad in furs 
and wearing a red necktie. Evidently Drom was 
off to the north again, to persuade some more cheese 
factories to sell to him. 

When Jim advanced, his old chum turned a square 
back. But as Jim had a duty towards Sallie, he 
laid a kindly hand on the insulting shoulder. 

“Why so peevish, old man? Didn’t you tell me 
to do my damnedest?” 

Dromillard shook off the hand and faced him. 

“Jim Fletcher, you’re a dirty cur. To hell with 
you!” 

“Never again,” said Jim. “It’s just ten years ago 
tomorrow night since you and I followed Charlie 
Agoolya like two dirty curs to the little hell in Chi¬ 
cago where he kept his girls. I’d give my right 


January 45 

hand if we hadn’t gone, but I haven’t been drunk 
or dirty since.” 

“The hell you haven’t!” 

“I haven’t, but I’m not taking much credit for 
it. As for you, I think you’ve been clean for about 
three years, ever since you made up your mind to 
marry Sallie. Well, she’s likely to accept you.” 

“Jim Fletcher, you think you’re subsidized for the 
rest of your natural life, so that you can insult any¬ 
body with impunity. That remains to be seen. I 
have something to say about the Flower money.” 

“So you have. Between us we’ve managed to 
hang one man, and if you don’t let up on your thefts, 
you may hang some more.” 

“What do you mean—theft?” 

“Stealing factories out of the Association.” 

“Rot! They quit the Association because they 
can squeeze a cent a pound more out of me.” 

“On just one kind of cheese, Drom.” 

“Well, that’s enough. It is unjust to pay the 
farmers right around here no more than I pay for 
longhorn cheese hauled two hundred miles.” 

“Drom, the Association has almost always paid 
more than you have, and sooner or later it will put 
you out of business. But there’s a personal point. I 
saw old Mr. Kranz on the street this morning, and 
he’s not looking well. He can’t fight you much 
longer.” 

Drom unbuttoned his fur coat as if it oppressed 
him. 


46 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Herr President Kranz is perfectly able to take 
care of himself. His association is unconstitutional 
and unsound, but he’s drawing a colossal salary.” 

“About how much?” 

“Ten thousand.” 

“Are you willing to be quoted to that effect?” 

“Of course not. I never saw his books.” 

“Well, Drom, I have seen them. The Sun doesn’t 
often get at bedrock financial facts, but tomorrow 
I shall say that you have multiplied a competitor’s 
salary by five.” 

At this point the train pulled in. As Drom turned 
to board it, the following language escaped the bar¬ 
rier of his teeth: 

“If you say that, I’ll beat you up. I’ll be back 
here at five thirty-one, Saturday morning.” 

VI 

Next day, January fourth, Jim wrote: 

Boxing*. —Dromillard Schmit is multi¬ 
plying- salaries by hearsay. He repeats 
rumor to the effect that the salary of 
one of his competitors in the cheese 
business is colossal. He estimates it 
at ten thousand, whereas it is two thou¬ 
sand. If we estimated the costs of the 
Sun at this rate, Drom would have a 
fit of apoplexy. 

Mr. Schmit has g-one up country to 
persuade some more factories to with¬ 
draw from the Wisconsin Cheese Asso¬ 
ciation. This is a pity, because if all 
the members would stick, they wouldn’t 
lose the price of a box of stogies on 
longhorns, and they would still have 
the best marketing system ever de¬ 
vised. 

Mr. Schmit departed wearing a red 
necktie. He is coming back tomorrow 
morning and will then beat up the edi- 


January 


47 


tor for writing this item. Seganku is 
not a country village, but these village 
idiots are going to fight. We are bet¬ 
ting on Drom, but he may need lini¬ 
ment. Druggists are therefore invited 
to send in ads about liniment, to be 
printed free. 

Next morning he was at the station by five fifteen 
with a copy of the offending issue in his pocket. 

He heard the hum of a motor, probably a taxi¬ 
cab, approaching. It ceased, and a lady presently 
appeared upon the platform. 

“Well, well, Sandowina, I hardly knew you in 
the new furs!” 

They walked together to the south end of the 
platform. 

“Did you mind the things I said about you?” 

“Sure I didn’t. I took your advice right away 
quick. You said get one good man for manager, and 
I telegraphed.” 

“Are you really going on the stage?” 

“Sure I am. And I’m married already.” 

“Lordy! To think I missed that scoop. When 
was it, and where?” 

“Chicago; day before yesterday.” 

Jim took out his notebook. “What is the name 
of this happy man?” 

“Udny Zeno.” 

“Odd name. It’s half Scotch and half Greek.” 

“My man ain’t Greek; he’s Italian. Here comes 
he now.” 

There emerged from the ticket office a figure in 


48 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Russian sables, a sporting man gray at the temples. 
He sauntered towards them, and the majestic girl 
who called him husband smiled triumphantly. 

She presented him, though Jim was standing trans¬ 
fixed. It was Charles Agoolya. 

The two men bowed. 

“I observe,” said Jim, “that Sandowina came 
down to see you off.” 

Whatever else could be said against Charles 
Agoolya, he was not often called slow. 

“Mr. Fletcher, you got it right the first crack 
out of the box. But I couldn’t bear to tell her that 
I had to go on alone.” 

“What iss?” yelled Sandowina. 

“Why, baby, I want Mr. Fletcher to drive you 
back to the paternal nest. There’s a couple of birds 
coming to see me tonight that I don’t consider fit 
to meet you.” 

“Fine,” said Jim, sitting down on the iron rail. 
“Now, Sandowina, if Mr. Zeno thinks it best for 
you to drive back with me, remember that you prom¬ 
ised to obey him.” 

Sandowina sat down beside him on the iron rail 
and began to cry. Jim looked over the rail and 
hoped she wouldn’t fall over backwards. 

Suddenly Sandowina recollected her strength, and 
stopped crying. 

“I go to Chicago right away pretty quick now, 
and I take my man mit!” 


January 


49 


“Sandowina, are you really going to run off and 
leave all your friends ? Everybody in Seganku likes 
you.” 

“Mr. Drom Schmit don’t.” 

“But even Drom would fight for you. And there’s 
more than one who wants to marry you.” 

“I’m married already yet.” 

“No, dear, you’re mistaken. I hate to say it, 
but you’re mistaken.” 

Sandowina arose, flushed and furious. 

“Strafe him, Udny!” 

“I’ve a damn good mind to,” snarled the man, 
drawing down the corners of his cruel mouth. 

Jim arose and backed off. Agoolya turned slowly 
on his heels, till they had virtually exchanged places. 
Agoolya stood with his back to the south, about 
two feet from the railing. 

At this moment the five thirty-one roared in from 
the north, and only one passenger alighted. Drom- 
illard Schmit noticed the tense group at the south 
end of the platform, and walked down to within a 
rod of it, and heard what was said. 

“Sandowina, I wish you’d call off your dog, be¬ 
cause in a few minutes I have an appointment to 
fight Drom. But I’ve known this man a long while, 
and when I tell you you aren’t married, you can 
bank on it. This man has a wife in Los Angeles.” 

The words were not out of his mouth when 
Agoolya struck him in the face. 


50 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Jim countered in a manner most sudden, unchris¬ 
tian, and horizontal. All the nervous energy he had 
been saving went into voltage. All the solid hate 
of ten years came through without the loss of a gram. 
He had never dealt such a punch in all his life. It 
sent Charles Agoolya clean backward over the rail¬ 
ing, and they all heard his brain-pan crack. 

Dromillard Schmit walked off and was seen no 
more. 

Jim ran into the station and called the ambulance. 
When presently he sprinted around into the street, 
there stood Sandowina, holding the limp furry form 
on her outstretched arms. So she stood for min¬ 
utes, never moving a muscle, till the ambulance ar¬ 
rived. They drove to the hospital, but within an 
hour Charles Agoolya was dead. The nurse closed 
the mouth and put a little support under the jaw. 
The face was beautiful in a thin, swart, antique fash¬ 
ion. It seemed to belong to the days when even 
the honorable Brutus lent money at forty-eight per- 
centum. 

And when Jim tried to explain who the man 
really was, and how all the decent Italians were 
ashamed of him, and how he had grown rich by 
preying on immigrants, she was so dazed that she 
hardly heard him. 

But he took her home, and then telegraphed to 
Angelo, the dead man’s brother. 

The process of giving himself up to the police 


January 


51 


proved a mere formality. By nine o’clock he was 
back at his desk, with jaw set to tell the truth. 

That afternoon, January sixth, the Sun carried the 
following: 

Accidents.—Last evening- little Aphro¬ 
dite Spartali was injured while coast¬ 
ing- on the lake front. Another sled 
bumped into hers, and she was thrown. 

Her right arm was broken. She was 
as brave as any of her Greek ancestors 
when Dr. Peter Schaefer set the arm. 

Even if she had broken her nose, Dr. 

Pete could have made it look as good 
as new. Aphrodite is nearly through 
the Fourth Grade, and this accident will 
not prevent her from entering the Fifth 
in February. She is a beautiful snow¬ 
bird, and will soon be using her wings 
again. Early this morning James 
Flower Fletcher accidentally killed a 
Chicago man who goes by the name of 
Udny Zeno. The scene of the accident 
was the Northwestern Station. The two 
men met and quarreled, and, in the 
fight that ensued, Fletcher knocked his 
opponent off the south end of the plat¬ 
form. Zeno’s skull was fractured, and 
he died at the hospital an hour later. 

The coroner, having interviewed all the 
persons who saw the fight, has issued a 
burial permit and dismissed the case. 

The force of the blow was due to an 
old grudge concerning a woman. It 
happened to be the tenth anniversary 
of the night when the two men patron¬ 
ized a brothel together. Fletcher’s 
mother is fortunately dead. 

Having written this paragraph, Jim called Mrs. 
Spartali on the telephone, and gently warned her 
against reading the second part of it to Aphrodite. 
He ordered some flowers sent to the child, and fully 
expected that they would be sent back. 

He clipped the paragraph, pasted it on a sheet of 


52 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


paper, and wrote beneath it: “Miss Flower: 
I beg leave to tender my resignation.—J. F. 
Fletcher." At three o’clock he sent this up to the 
Flower residence by young John Capps, the head 
carrier, with instructions to wait for a reply. It 
came promptly: “The Owner respects the Editor, 
and cannot accept his resignation. But she does not 
care to see him again until she sends for him." He 
handed it to young John to read, saying: “That is 
what I call wormwood. May you never have to 
drink it." 

The paragraph cost him about a dozen subscrib¬ 
ers. Jim knew them all, and had no reproaches for 
any. On the other hand, it gained him more than 
thirty, mostly tough. 

Tough in another sense, however, was Father In- 
nisfail, who telephoned his niece for ten copies. He 
was toughened by hearing confessions. He was 
toughened like steel by the sacred blood and the 
tears of mothers. And he told Morna over the 
telephone that he thought he knew a sermon when 
he saw it. 

Jim’s worst hour during the whole business was 
that which he spent with the dead man’s brother. 
Of sorrow Angelo showed no trace, but he cursed 
Jim with strange, clannish, Mediterranean curses, 
and grinned like a demon as he said that something 
was coming to them both. The man was evidently 
abnormal, and Jim could not understand how immi- 


January 


53 


grants could have trusted him. As a matter of fact, 
they never met him, but dealt only with the senior 
Agoolya and the fascinating elder son. 

VII 

Having told the world how vile he was, Jim de¬ 
voted himself to Seganku. He kept the wires hot 
with queries and orders. He added two new lino¬ 
type and other machines. He added new members 
to the staff. Two were reporters, one was an en¬ 
graver, and two had constituted an advertising firm. 

The future business of “G. and M. Trilling,” 
namely Gatty and Mabel, brother and sister, was 
to write up the stores of Seganku from day to day. 
They set to work, and found that the stores had 
been pampered. All had furnished copy, but Jim 
had always worked it over, substituting selling points 
in place of superlatives. 

“Brother and Sister Trilling,” said Jim, “America 
is the land of equal opportunity. It’s in the con¬ 
stitution. It’s in the party platforms. It’s in all 
political conversations, and I regret to say is mostly 
conversation. But your job is actually to furnish 
equal opportunity. Give all competitors a fresh start 
every day. Every morning Morris Fels will outsell 
Idris Babcock, but every afternoon you are to place 
the Jewish toe and the Puritan toe on the same chalk 
line. Do you get me?” 

“I think we do,” said Gatty. “We are to enrich 


54 Sallie’s Newspaper 

them all, whether they have any business ability or 
not.” 

“No, Gatty. You can’t. But you are not to give 
a whole page to one article of commerce when you 
know for certain there’s another just as good. You 
are to be more impartial than the Supreme Court. 
You will discover that Pappenfusser’s veal makes 
the best schnitzels and Heinicke’s pigs the best ham. 
Give the facts without fear or favor.” 

Gatty scratched his head. “I’ll do my best, but 
I’m afraid of the Jews.” 

“No need to be. They will give you plenty of 
copy. But you’ll have to revise Morris Fels’s. He 
wants us to reproduce the exact language of his 
cleverest salesladies. It’s a good idea, but we are 
not linguists.” 

In spite of using such cheerful language in the 
office, Jim did not go home to the Jefferson House 
for many days. He was ashamed to do so. He 
lived in the Sun building, and had his meals sent 
in. He hardly ate or slept, but on the twenty-first 
of January he ran his first issue in the new format. 
He had accomplished the change weeks earlier than 
he had dreamed of doing, and all because he was 
ashamed. The new paper was an elegant thing to 
look at, and was costing Sallie an elegant price. 

Just after the second issue in magazine form had 
been placed on the press, Gatty Trilling rushed in. 

“Stop her! I’ve got a suicide.” 


January 


55 


“Calm yourself, Brother Trilling. No suicides 
are your business but those which result from bar¬ 
gain hunting. Suicide comes under Medical, any¬ 
how, and gets only a hundred ems. When a man 
goes crazy, he ceases to be news.” 

Jim placidly tilted back in his swivel chair till his 
head touched the cool glass of the window. Thus 
on a swift express train a man may lean against the 
glass of a car window, though he usually wonders 
whether he won’t break it. And so reclining, he 
inquired: 

“Who is it?” 

“A man named Kranz.” 

The name struck Jim’s ear like the fierce swoop 
of another train past the car window. 

“First name?” 

“Henry.” 

“That’s not suicide. That’s murder. By what 
means was this murder accomplished?” 

“He hung himself.” 

“Hanged, son. Beef is hung, but men are 
hanged, and sometimes by a red necktie lent for 
the occasion. And they hang themselves in a barn.” 

“How did you know?” 

“By acquaintance with contagious diseases.” 

And Jim Fletcher closed his eyes and lay per¬ 
fectly still, like one who has been killed in a rail¬ 
road wreck. 

Gatty stole back to the pressroom and stopped the 


5^ 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


press on his own responsibility. Jim, of course, no¬ 
ticed the silence. He slowly tilted forward, picked 
up a sheet of paper, and typed three lines. They 
went in with the other death notices, and were more 
widely read than any extra would have been, for 
all over the city people were snatching up the Sun 
to see if the report was true. They read in the 
proper place: 

Died. —Henry Kranz, beloved citizen 
of Seganku, Jan. 21, 1924, aged seventy 
years and fifteen days. His accounts 
are straight on earth and in heaven. 

But next day almost every item carried some ref¬ 
erence to Henry Kranz. One page ran as follows: 

Capital. —The capital of the Wiscon¬ 
sin Cheese Association is $1,400. No 
such sum ever produced such returns 
in the memory of farmers. The books 
of the Association, examined this morn¬ 
ing by the Department of Markets, show 
that the financial condition of the As¬ 
sociation is absolutely sound. 

Capps, John. —The lad who carries 
papers for the Sun, and sometimes 
writes an ad, says that yesterday’s 
paper was not taken in at the Kranz 
home. Mr. Kranz usually came out 
to get the paper, and always had a kind 
word for the carrier. 

Carthage. —A recent dispatch from 
Tunis announces the excavation of 
charred bones from a position in which 
they have lain since July, 146 B. C. 

The word Carthage means Newtown. 

The town was once a trading post es¬ 
tablished by Tyrians in Africa, just 
opposite Sicily. It became the richest 
city in the world. It was the mart of 
nations, the stronghold of the seas, the 
bestower of crowns, whose merchants 
were princes, and whose traffickers were 
the honorable of the earth. Carthage 


January 


57 


never produced a pound of cheese, but 
it set the price. The nearest cheese 
country was Sicily, and it ruthlessly 
enslaved Sicily. At last some raw 
farmers up the river Tiber woke up 
and went into business themselves. 
They made some ships, grappled the 
galleys of Carthage, went aboard, and 
slew the monopolists in farmer fashion. 
Later they burned Carthage and ran 
a plow over the ruins. The charred 
bones recently dug up may be those 
of the Carthaginian cheese board. 

Cheese. —This morning the price of 
cheese fell two cents a pound. It is 
Drom Schmit’s way of showing that 
he is sorry. The drop is pretty sud¬ 
den, and will inflict some hardship. It 
will affect four million pounds, and will 
cost the farmers something like a hun¬ 
dred thousand, but the market will re¬ 
cover in a few days. 

Commission. — The Commission of 
Agricultural Inquiry states that the 
American farmer gets about thirty- 
seven cents of the consumer’s dollar, 
while sixty-three cents goes for dis¬ 
tribution and profits to the dealers. 
The fact that Wisconsin farmers are 
getting more than the average is due 
to Henry Kranz. But the farmers of 
Denmark get about seventy-two cents, 
and so there remains a good deal of 
work to be done in America, especially 
in reducing the costs of transportation. 

Commission Merchants. —Three years 
ago the price of March wheat in Min¬ 
neapolis fell thirteen cents in three 
hours. Such manipulation of their prop¬ 
erty cost the farmers a great deal of 
money, and before the year was out 
they had forced an act through Con¬ 
gress to place the grain exchanges un¬ 
der the supervision of the Secretary of 
Agriculture. A great many farmers de¬ 
manded the abolition of all grain ex¬ 
changes. Henry Kranz never did. He 
recognized the fairness of the best com- 
/mission houses, and their power of 
stabilizing the market. 

Corn. —The United States is produc¬ 
ing a great deal of corn, but four-fifths 
of it is fed to hogs. Henry Kranz once 
said to the writer that within fifty years 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


58 


we shall have to stop immigration en¬ 
tirely if we are to keep on eating ham 
and bacon. 

Craniums. —Dr. W. J. B. Weaver, the 
dentist, this morning brought to the 
Sun office a dental article concerning 
a fossil girl dug up two years ago in 
Rhodesia. Her teeth needed filling, but 
Dr. Weaver doubts whether she would 
have held still long enough to have 
them filled, for she was a brute of a 
girl. Her nose lay flat on her face. The 
top of her head was also flat, and she 
carried her brains in the back of her 
head over her thick neck, which was 
always thrust forward. She was a 
hideous contrast to our beautiful and 
powerful Sandowina Schmidt, who car¬ 
ries herself like a queen, and whom any 
yoiing man in Seganku would be proud 
to capture for his wife. 

The doctor went on to praise the 
beauty of Henry Kranz’s teeth, which 
were perfectly sound till about a year 
ago, when he began to worry because 
he was getting old and could not fight 
the battle of the farmers much longer. 
Everybody remembers what a fine head 
Mr. Kranz had, and will note it again 
tomorrow, when all will look upon that 
countenance for the last time. Henry 
Kranz’s nobly arched cranium made its 
way up from an ape-like cranium. He 
was descended from just such brutes as 
this Rhodesian girl, but by a process 
so long and gradual that we never think 
of it. In America it is not a man’s 
origin that counts—it’s what he does 
for the community. 

Spartali. — Little Aphrodite Spar tali 
says that Mr. Kranz was the very sec¬ 
ond person to send her flowers when 
she broke her arm. 


VIII 

That evening Jim was too tired to go to bed, but 
sat smoking a pipe and staring at the ceiling, where 
the paper drooped. 


January 


59 


There came a knock. Jim enunciated permission 
to enter, and in came Father Innisfail, looking like 
an Irish poet. Jim settled him in his own easy chair, 
got out a box of good cigars that Drom had given 
him for Christmas, opened it, and placed it at the 
clerical elbow. 

Father Innisfail smilingly lighted one. 

“I’ve come for many reasons.” 

“I’m glad to see you.” 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Fletcher, that that was a polite 
lie.” 

“It was. I am none too fond of middlemen, espe¬ 
cially holy ones.” 

Father Innisfail laughed. “I noted as much in 
your little sketch of Seganku. Father Marquette 
was here long before Michel Dromillard, but you 
wouldn’t mention him, because he was a Jesuit.” 

“I’m not quite so prejudiced as that. I simply 
thought that Father Marquette had nothing to do 
with skunks.” 

“Mr. Fletcher, you are a sort of Jesuit yourself. 
I mean that you adapt yourself.” 

“It’s the devil’s own trait,” said the worn-out 
Jim. 

“Go on, lad. I’ve come to confess ye, and you’re 
beginning bravely. Now confess you’re not omnis¬ 
cient.” 

“I confess.” 

“Well, then, repent what you have said of Henry 


6 o 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Kranz. You have exalted that Mason above all 
saints. You even took it upon yourself to forgive 
his sins.” 

Father Innisfail extracted a small manuscript from 
his pocket. 

“I have here an article on confession. It shows 
that the church understood the psychology of it a 
thousand years before Freud. Can I get it into your 
paper for love or money?” 

“Most welcome. Just lay it on the table.” 

“I’m not to read it to you?” 

“No, Morna’s uncle is a gentleman.” 

“Thank you. I wish that she and you and I 
could be Morna, Jim, and Mike.” 

“Very well, Mike. But you are insinuating your¬ 
self into my heart for no good purpose. You will 
presently oppose progress in this town.” 

“Jim, if you will draw up a civic program, I’ll 
tell you exactly how far the Pope of Seganku can 
count on me. And if I break my word having given 
it, may the fiend fly away with me for a false 
traitor.” 

“Did you say Pope?” 

“Faith, at your present speed you’ll be Pope of 
Seganku in a month.” 

“Before I become a pope may my right hand 
cleave to the roof of my mouth.” 

“Well, you’re safe. A pope may issue bulls, but 
never Irish bulls. A leader must know what he 


January 61 

wants, and be dogmatic about it. He must have 
singleness of aim.” 

“Mike, singleness of aim is ignorance. It is zeal 
without knowledge. Financial leaders have it. Sol¬ 
dier boys have it. Reformers have it. Prosecut¬ 
ing attorneys have it. But for perfection of igno¬ 
rance they can’t equal a priest, whose single aim is 
to capitalize fear.” 

“Jim, when you revile the Church, you revile 
your own mother.” 

“I do not. My mother is dead, thank God.” 

Father Innisfail looked thoughtfully at the end 
of his cigar. He was recalling a previous and printed 
reference to Jim’s mother. 

“Does Miss Sandowina Schmidt read English?” 

“She does.” 

“And has she the wit to understand what she 
reads?” 

“No. No man has that.” 

“It’s a neat parry, Jim, but you came as near as 
you dared to advising that girl to lay her net for 
Dromillard Schmit.” 

“I don’t see it.” 

“Why, you called him your companion in mis¬ 
chief. You gave the impression that he was with 
you in all your immoral scrapes. I could easily 
point this out to her.” 

“Mike, if you do anything like that, you are no 
friend of mine.” 


62 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Very well, I’ll refrain. But in return I hope 
you’ll not prosecute the Church.” 

“I don’t.” 

“But you are likely to, because you don’t under¬ 
stand her. I take it, Jim, that you are fond of 
farmers.” 

“I am.” 

“But so is the Church.” 

“Tell it to the submarines.” 

“But it’s obvious. Religion flourishes only where 
people are full of sympathy for plants and animals. 
You don’t, as a rule, though there are plenty of ex¬ 
ceptions, find the great financiers and manufacturers 
in the Church. Sam Glendower isn’t in the Church 
—he’s too busy making money. He doesn’t attend 
any church, and he doesn’t attend to that son of 
his.” 

“Do you know anything against Tally?” 

“No, except that he’s grown up like Topsy. He’s 
a senior in the University of Chicago, and heading 
his class at nineteen.” 

“Well, that’s no crime.” 

“Perhaps not, Jim, but if the Church had that 
boy in charge, Jesuits, for instance, they’d watch 
his sex life pretty closely and give him a good deal 
of outdoor labor.” 

To this boast Jim made no reply, and Father In- 
nisfail changed the subject. 

“I’ve sowed the seed I came to sow, and I per- 


January 


63 


ceive that the soil is rich. Maybe I can insinuate 
myself into your good graces a little farther. I’d 
like to become a regular contributor. I want a lit¬ 
tle Celtic revival. Remember, there are only three 
thousand Catholics in Seganku.” 

“Mike, if I print your propaganda, will Father 
Starich wish to advertise his Carniolans?” 

“No, Father Starich doesn’t live in America yet.” 

“Well, I’ll print you if you don’t mind being cut.” 

“But I do mind. Either print me verbatim or not 
at all.” 

“All right. That’s fair. Turn in your copy any 
day by six o’clock.” 

Father Innisfail rose to go, and Jim pressed the 
box of cigars upon him. 

When his new contributor had departed, the edi¬ 
tor began to undress. But he was so utterly ex¬ 
hausted that he did not complete the process. He 
dropped back on the bed and pulled the spread 
over him. 

His telephone rang, but he did not hear. There 
came a knock at the door, but he did not hear. Mys¬ 
tery of mysteries, the man was asleep. The burden 
of the world was rolled away. He was gathered 
to his fathers, but, alas, he did not stay gathered. 

He felt someone shaking him, and opened his 
eyes. He saw a heavy figure with yellowish hair, 
a low square forehead, and smooth jowls. It was 
the pastor of the Lutheran church to which Henry 
Kranz had once belonged. 


6 4 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“I saw your light burning. It is careless to leave 
the gas on. You might burn the hotel down.” 

“And if I did,” yawned Jim, “you’d say it was 
destroyed. Your ancestors locked Robert Mayer 
in the insane asylum for saying that heat destroys 
nothing.” 

“James, I came up to speak to you about some¬ 
thing more important than heat. It is about your 
soul.” 

“What’s the matter with my soul?” 

“It is drifting into atheism.” 

And the ponderous man sat down on the edge 
of the bed, where his weight drew the spread tightly 
across the occupant’s feet. Jim drew the feet up, 
and then sat up. 

“Nobody but a rank atheist in the garbage of a 
clergyman would disturb a poor devil like me at 
this time of night.” 

“It is only eleven, James, and I can’t let you 
go on like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Corrupting the high school students, who are 
already sufficiently corrupted by that man Napper. 
My heart bleeds for you.” 

“I’m much obliged, Pastor Bock, but I wish you 
could see your way clear to bring your bleeding heart 
around here about breakfast time and eat Jefferson 
House rolls with me. I was a pupil of Wookey Nap¬ 
per, and so were both your boys, and I discuss our 
mutual corruption best at breakfast.” 


January 


65 


“James, you mock me.” 

“Pastor Bock, you mistake me. I have the great¬ 
est respect for you, if only because you are the pastor 
of the female heavy-weight champion. But I am 
the editor of a daily paper, and no man considereth 
my affliction. They beset me before and behind. I 
am hog, dog, devil, dishcloth, and dairymaid, and 
though I say it who shouldn’t, I am sleepy.” 

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” 

“Maybe you are, but you don’t look it. You look 
about as sorry as Taliesin Glendower in his dad’s 
car at midnight, going sixty miles an hour. If it 
weren’t for my sainted father’s sake, I’d excom¬ 
municate you. I’m Pope of Seganku, and you are 
a follower of one Martin Luther, a bull-headed 
zealot who called the Copernican theory the work 
of a fool.” 

“James, boys will disturb the peace of God-fear¬ 
ing communities just as long as they are taught such 
disrespect as you teach in today’s paper, about Henry 
Kranz’s cranium.” 

“Now, look here, Pastor Bock, Henry was a pa¬ 
tient man, and stayed in your church just as long 
as he could stand it. He didn’t get out till you 
shied a theological brick at his cranium. You did 
it right in church—about his entertaining a member 
of the geological survey. Then he quietly escaped 
and comforted himself with Masonry as best he 
could.” 


66 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Yes, James, and his own Masonic brothers 
stabbed him in the back.” 

Jim reached out a lean hand. “Shake, Pastor. 
All your sins are forgiven you for that true word. 
And if you desire to discourse to me about my soul, 
I will listen, though I’m likely to doze off any min¬ 
ute now.” 

“James, up to the time when Hodge Flower’s 
granddaughter arrived in town, your paper was a 
good paper. It avoided politics and religion. But 
the minute she appeared upon the scene, you began 
to suppress facts.” 

“Did you say suppress?” 

“I did. You said that Durand Flower married 
and left home, when you should have said that he 
wickedly eloped and ran away, because your grand¬ 
father had filled his head with Darwinism and set 
the son at enmity with his own father.” 

“Well, Pastor, to have said that would have been 
to plunge into religion. Besides, Hodge Flower 
finally wrote to his son and said he was sorry. And 
when he lay dying, he whispered to Durand that 
if he’d only stay in Seganku, he might believe what 
he damn pleased. You surely did not wish the Sun 
to say damn.” 

“That, Jim, was a pitiful concession on the old 
man’s part.” 

“Pastor Bock, I have no confidence in my own 
generalities, but I suspect that man is an arrogant 


January 67 

creature, who needs to make concessions every min¬ 
ute.” 

“Yes, Jim, but why? It is because of Adam’s dis¬ 
obedience. Adam was a perfect creature till he 
defied the God who made him.” 

“Just how perfect was Adam? Did he have a 
perfect navel?” 

“James, you must have a foul mind to dwell on 
such details.” 

“I deny that. I am asking innocent questions.” 

“Not innocent, Jim, but malicious. And I can 
prove it to you. Was your mother made in the 
image of God, or was she not?” 

“She was. She was like a flower. She was like 
a mother bird. She was like a field of waving grain.” 

“Well said, but why put me off with figures of 
speech?” 

“Because that’s the way the bible puts me off.” 

“James, your levity is almost criminal. You are 
exactly like your grandfather, who read the word 
of God only to confute it.” 

“Pastor Bock, my grandfather did no such thing. 
But all the same, your remark is unkind. I consider 
it mean, unchristian, lopsided, and personal. I don’t 
go to your church because it would tempt you to 
say such things in the hope of seeing them printed. 
But I read the bible every Sunday. Last Sunday 
I read the book of Acts, where Paul’s friends be¬ 
sought him not to adventure himself into the theatre. 


68 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


I thought that such good advice. You will see me 
passing it on. I’ll do it by never mentioning a show 
unless I know it’s decent. I won’t advertise bath¬ 
ing girls, though I really have no criticism of the 
human form divine when it’s properly pickled by 
the ocean and freckled by the sun.” 

“James, that is most commendable. But your ref¬ 
erence to freckles reminds me again of Darwinism, 
which teaches that eyes are developed from 
freckles.” 

“Never heard of it. Old Wookey Napper never 
taught us anything like that. But now that you 
inform me of it, I rather like it. Our Lord tells 
us that his friends had eyes but couldn’t see. They 
must have been freckles not yet developed. I sup¬ 
pose that what develops eyes on the skin is God’s 
sunlight kissing it awake. Anyhow there’s a girl 
in Seganku who can see more with one freckle than 
you can see with both eyes.” 

“James, do you really intend to act as censor?” 

“I do. They’ve got to cut out the harlots, and 
the couches spread with the striped cloth of Egypt, 
and the kidnaping of rich men’s children. I’ve 
printed too many kidnapings myself. To say ‘Don’t 
kidnap’ is about as bad as to say ‘Kidnap.’ The 
suggestion is the same.” 

“James, it sounds promising, but I cannot forget 
that you advised my young parishioner to go upon 
the stage. You must admit that going on the stage 
means indecent exposure.” 


January 


69 


“I don’t admit it. I should like to photograph 
Sandowina in tights, and print her picture. It would 
do the future mothers of Seganku a world of good. 
I called her a heavy-weight, but she is slender enough 
in the waist.” 

“Enough, James. I am not concerned with Sand- 
owina’s waist, but with her soul. She is unhappy. 
Last Sunday I observed her crying in church. I 
must go and see her.” 

“I wouldn’t. I can tell you what the matter is. 
She grieves because Drom Schmit does not love her.” 

“In that case, James, I must warn her that Drom- 
illard Schmit is not a moral man.” 

“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s all right now.” 

“James, I read your issue of the twenty-third. 
Was he with you that night, ten years ago?” 

“Pastor Bock, Drom is not your parishioner.” 

“Jim, your evasion is an answer. But it was a 
courageous thing for you to print the record of your 
sin, and show the youth of Seganku that the lusts 
of the flesh lead to fracture of the skull.” 

“No, that was only a journalist’s trick to avoid 
a charge of manslaughter.” 

“Jim, I know better. You could have hushed 
the matter up. I honor you for your honesty, and 
I love you as a son.” 

“And I love you, Father Bock. And I devoutly 
believe that you and I and all the other animals are 
made in the image of God. He has breath, as we 


70 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


read in Genesis. He has feathers, as we read in 
the Psalms. And for a Son he has a vine who is also 
a grain of wheat.” 

“James, do you really intend to be blasphemous?” 

“Father Bock, I definitely intend not to be blas¬ 
phemous. Christ and your son were grains of wheat. 
Each fell into the ground willingly.” 

Pastor Bock bowed his head. “You are a strange 
child, Jim.” 

“Well, if you wake a child up in the middle of 
the night, isn’t he likely to prattle strangely? 
Desiderius did. When a shell passed over the hos¬ 
pital, he was very likely to rouse me and talk the¬ 
ology. He did try to feel that there was some con¬ 
nection between his being out there and what you 
describe as election, conversion, sanctification, and 
perseverance, but the perseverance was all that 
meant much to him. Was it then so strange if we 
thought of God as the great Mother Bird, who 
would fain have gathered all the wounded under 
her wings?” 

Pastor Bock was silent, but his heavy face was 
white. He was fighting for the courage to ask a cer¬ 
tain question. 

“Jim, my boy was not so innocent as a grain of 
wheat. He ran with Dromillard Schmit too much.” 

“Pastor Bock, he never saw Drom in France. But 
I know now why you came up here tonight. I give 


January 71 

you my word of honor that Desiderius was clean in 
France.” 

“You didn’t have to plead with him?” 

“Never.” 

“God bless you, Jim.” 

Pastor Bock’s tears were flowing freely now, and 
he wiped them away with the bedspread. 

“You’ll forgive me for coming up?” 

“Why, you dear old war horse, I wouldn’t 
have missed this call for a wilderness of ancestral 
monkeys. How’s the other boy coming on?” 

“Martin holds his own with any other sophomore 
in the University of Chicago, but I’m sorry he 
wouldn’t go to a Lutheran school.” 

“Couldn’t control him?” 

“No. As I told you, he was corrupted by that 
man Napper. He is only eighteen, and as bad a 
Darwinist as you are. I cannot help trembling for 
any child who is deliberately taught that man is an 
animal.” 

“Let us grant that man is not an animal. Are 
you in favor of revising the Constitution so as to 
give us light wines and beer?” 

“Certainly, Jim. We have plenty of biblical au¬ 
thority for light wines and beer.” 

“Does Martin drink?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Well, does he run with Taliesin Glendower a 
good deal?” 


72 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“I think not. Tally is a senior.” 

“A senior of nineteen isn’t very old, Pastor Bock. 
And Tally is naturally so swift that—well, I should 
be more afraid of Tally than of Darwin.” 


PART II 

FEBRUARY 

1924 








PART II 


FEBRUARY 

I924 

I 

O N the first of February the British Govern¬ 
ment officially recognized the Russian Soviet 
Government, an action which most Ameri¬ 
cans considered rather bold. And on the same day 
Jim did something which presently seemed to the 
slow town of Seganku equally bold. He hired a 
scientific editor. The move struck the Board of 
Education as a good one, but then the board itself 
was considered too bold by half the folks in Se¬ 
ganku. Seganku had not yet become quite reconciled 
to the teaching of geology and biology in the high 
school. It did not object to physics, however, and 
was able to understand what Pastor Bock’s ancestors 
had denied—that in a certain sense heat destroys 
nothing. 

The manner of the hiring was as follows. Jim 
went out to supper uninvited. He walked down the 
hill to the frozen river, and westward to the cot¬ 
tage of his old biology teacher, where he was wel¬ 
comed by several dogs whose duty it was to welcome 
tramps. 


75 


7 6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Dr. Wookey Napper was the son of an expert 
cheesemaker whom Hodge Flower had once im¬ 
ported. In Cheddar and the neighboring village of 
Wookey his Huguenot ancestors had lived ever since 
they were forced to quit shearing the nap in 
Flanders, and flee for their lives from Catholic 
hatred. 

The old bachelor—Wookey must have been forty- 
four—gave him some poached eggs on toast, and a 
bit of cheese and some apples, and made him help 
wash the dishes. Then the two friends sat down to 
smoke pipes. 

“Doctor, am I still required to call you Wookey?’ 7 

“You are.” 

“Well, have you been reading the paper lately?” 

“More or less.” 

“What do you think of it?” 

“My son, it bids fair to become a biological rec¬ 
ord. It will be preserved. Since nothing is so dead 
as yesterday’s paper except tomorrow’s paper, it 
will serve for prophecy. By studying this foolish 
record a Seganku youth ought to be able to predict 
his own folly.” 

“You ancient cynic, would you consent to con¬ 
tribute?” 

“No, I can’t afford to. But you may print my doc¬ 
toral dissertation at five dollars an inch.” 

“What’s it about?” 

“It’s about the relation of hemoglobin to 


February 


77 


chlorophyl. I am one of the discoverers of phyllins, 
which are carboxylic acids of nitrogenous ring-sys¬ 
tems, retaining magnesium in direct combination with 
nitrogen.” 

“Wookey, you never told me this terrible thing 
before.” 

“No. I’m always afraid of losing my job.” 

“Dear master, I’m prepared at last to take you 
out of the high school, and hire you as Scientific 
Editor.” 

“Jim, I’m prepared to fracture your cranium if 
you refer to me again as master. And I object to 
your interviewing dentists on the subject of craniums. 
Weaver doesn’t know a cranium from a cranberry.” 

“Wookey, you are an ungrateful old egotist. You 
were not interviewed about Henry Kranz’s cranium 
because I wanted to show you how well I remem¬ 
bered what you taught me.” 

“ Jim, you are a horsethief and a liar. You have 
no more reverence for my gray hairs than for the 
hyena bones in yonder case. My father took them 
out of the caves of Wookey long before you were 
hatched. If you really loved me, you’d have writ¬ 
ten them up years ago.” 

“Wookey, the time has come for you to write 
them up yourself, that they may be blessed by the 
clergy. A few nights ago I was visited by brethren 
Innisfail and Bock.” 

“Together?” 


78 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“No, thank God. But both of them resented my 
classification of Kranz, and Innisfail is going to 
write for me.” 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Join the staff. Counteract him.” 

“What, and destroy my academic leisure? I 
have at least ten minutes for investigation every eve¬ 
ning.” 

“What do you investigate?” 

“That’s none of your business. But when you 
are older, and able to bear it, I will show you my 
stuff in the files of a certain British journal. Jim, 
magnesium does the same trick for leaves that iron 
does for blood.” 

“Wonderful I Let’s tell the world.” 

“There is no world as yet. There’s nothing but 
Foxhall men and Rhodesian girls.” 

“Wookey, can’t I hire you to measure the tamer 
ones? Write me a series to be called Seganku 
Types.” 

“Jim, you cannot hire me. When do I begin?” 

“As soon as the priest begins. Watch for the 
trail of the Roman serpent, and wipe it out. I give 
you a free hand.” 

“You’d better! I haven’t called on your owner 
yet. What does she think of you?” 

“She thinks I’m an imbecile and a cripple.” 

“She’s wrong about the cripple. Suppose you 
strip.” 


February 


79 

“Suppose I don’t. I’m not hiring you as Beauty 
Editor.” 

“Oh, well, I have your old measurements some¬ 
where. I’ll get them out and print them.” 

“Not in my paper.” 

“Jim, you have asked me to write about Seganku 
Types. You are such a type. I won’t be hired, 
hampered, paid, cut, or revised. If you reject a 
single word, I quit you cold. You come here with 
flattery on your tongue, and then you act like a col¬ 
lege president.” 

“Don’t say that! The others called me nothing 
worse than Jesuit and atheist. Can’t we compro¬ 
mise?” 

“We cannot. And if I choose to discuss you, I 
can’t make you out more of an ass than you’ve done 
already. For the last three weeks there has been 
very little reticence in your silly paper, and I shall 
take away what little there is left. I’ll strip the 
clothes off your skin, the skin off your muscles, the 
muscles off your periosteum, and the periosteum off 
your bones.” 

“Is my periosteum really there to hide my naked¬ 
ness?” 

“Certainly. Dr. Clopton Havers said so in the 
year 1691.” 

“Very well, go ahead, and be damned to you for 
an indecent old hyena.” 

“Thank you, Chimpanzee. And now tell me if 
you ever had a headache or a toothache.” 


8o 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Never.” 

“Not even in France, when you were wounded?” 


Next day pretty Morna brought to the office an 
envelope from her uncle. Jim opened it, keen to de¬ 
tect the trail of the serpent. He did not find it. 
What he did find made him laugh, look sheepish, and 
drop the whole thing into the waste basket. 

Morna saw the act, and was very indignant. When 
the Boss went out for lunch, she fished the treasure 
up, and took it back to the crack linotyper. 

“I haven’t read this, Steve, but Mr. Fletcher threw 
it on the floor.” 

Steve Dempsey glanced it over, and his boyish 
spectacled eyes began to twinkle. He handed it to 
the neighboring linotyper, Piet Kwekkeboom. 

Steve was Catholic, and Piet was Lutheran, and 
both were full of mischief. Ever since Steve sent 
Piet, then a mere devil, to borrow a “type-stretcher” 
from the German newspaper, Piet had kept Steve 
busy. But Piet read the Innisfail stuff and agreed 
that it ought to appear. 

So Steve turned to Morna. “It’s good copy, 
mavourneen. It’s double-spaced, and the Boss told 
me to save my eyes whenever I could. So I’ll set 
it, and if he kicks, you can send him to me.” 

Accordingly when the first damp paper was 


February 81 

brought to the editor’s desk, he was surprised to read 
as follows: 

Carthage. —The recent mention of 
Carthage reminds the present writer, 
who is a Celt, that the city was re¬ 
built by the Romans and became a sort 
of African Rome. It was also a great 
college town. To this place, about the 
year 371, came a boy named Aurelius 
Augustinus. He was inflammable, and 
fell grossly in love with the beautiful 
city, which lay like a voluptuous woman 
in the haze of a vapor bath, looking 
out across blue waters to shimmering- 
mountains. 

He became associated with a gang of 
students who called themselves the 
Wreckers, and they wrecked everything, 
from their professors’ desks to their 
mothers’ hopes. “Evil companionships 
corrupt good morals,” wrote St. Paul, 
taking the phrase from a Greek play 
about a Greek harlot. He knew. The 
boys in Carthage were charmed by 
Menander’s Thais just as boys nowa¬ 
days are charmed by Massenet’s Thais. 

The gang haunted the theatres, where 
they saw Roman versions of Menander 
and far viler things. 

Though they were supposed to be 
Christians, they went to the festival of 
Tanit, the goddess of unchastity, and 
feasted their eyes on the bodies of girls 
who danced about the image. They 
went in a gang to brothels. It was all 
a matter of the gang. Christian boys 
did things for a lark that they would 
never have thought of doing as delib¬ 
erate vice. 

At last young Augustine came to him¬ 
self. He saw that the enchantment of 
this life is lost unless a man loves 
purely and seals his love with a life 
of devotion. Love is a reciprocal oath 
of fidelity. Marriage is a sacrament 
between two celebrants, and is merely 
confirmed by the Church. Augustine 
rose to this conception of love, but the 
pure woman who might have saved him 
from celibacy was not at hand. He be¬ 
came a monk, and in due time a bishop. 


82 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


He who had been sensual became saintly, 
and his great intellect led the Church 
away from the lusts of paganism. 

Those who think that there is no 
spiritual evolution should study the life 
of St. Augustine, and compare that day 
with this. Have we not reason to re¬ 
joice that Seganku is not Carthage? 

But not many are called to be celibates, 
and it is not good for man to be alone. 

A little farther on appeared another item from 
the same pen. 

Celts.—The Celts are noted for the 
purity of their family life. This fact 
recalls to the present writer, who is a 
Celt, a curious legend which he came 
across in his youth, while visiting a 
clerical friend at Douglas in the Isle 
of Man, so called because it lies in the 
middle (Celtic mannin) of the Irish sea. 

Pour miles from Douglas was the es¬ 
tate of Ballafletcher. The Fletchers, an 
old Celtic family, owned a crystal cup 
ornamented with a flower. It was said 
to have been stolen from the shrine 
of St. Olave, and was carefully guarded. 

If it once got cracked in such a way 
as to injure the Flower, all luck would 
pass away from the house of Fletcher. 

It is easy to see in this legend the 
ancient worship of the hearth. Fairy 
gifts bringing household contentment 
were universally believed in by the 
Celts'. In time the fairies became saints. 

But the stories say that when the gift 
of married happiness was withheld by 
the fairies, the mortal went and took 
it. Hence arose the robberies of fairy¬ 
land, and eventually of shrines. But 
the present writer, though a devout 
Catholic, fancies that St. Olave forgave 
the knightly Fletcher for taking the 
crystal cup and the Flower. 

Having read the two articles, Jim wrote a check 
for a hundred dollars. But it was not for the author. 
He took it back to the composing room. 


February 83 

“Steve, did Morna hand you those Innisfail stories 
without a word?” 

“No, sir. She said you threw them on the floor.” 

“And yet you set them?” 

“I did, sir.” 

“Well, Steve Dempsey, you are the best linotyper 
I ever had, and I hate like the devil to let you go, 
but you’re fired just the same.” 

“That’s all right, Mr. Fletcher.” 

“Steve, do you recall the story you set two years 
ago, about the Pope and the tango?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Pope forbade the tango among the 
faithful, and his veto ruined a certain dancing 
master. The poor chap appealed to His Holiness, 
and the Pope said he was damn sorry, or whatever 
is etiquette for a Pope to say, and handed him a 
check. So here is yours.” 

“Pm not a dancing master, Mr. Fletcher. So 
long.” 

Morna saw Steve pass the window, discharged. 
She said nothing, but that evening Jim found an 
envelope under his plate at dinner. He ran his table 
knife under the flap and extracted the bitter kernel: 
“Dear Mr. Fletcher: Aren’t you getting rather in¬ 
tolerant? Drom is here with me, and seems to like 
the Carthage article very much. For his sake I wish 
you’d ask Mr. Dempsey to resume. I wouldn’t 
think of interfering for any lesser reason.—S.D.F.” 


84 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


The waitress, a nice girl who thought Mr. Fletcher 
about right, was sorry to see him arise and leave his 
soup to get cold. He did not return, and she thought 
it was simply terrible, the way Seganku worked Mr. 
Fletcher to death. 

But nobody that Saturday evening enjoyed dinner 
more than Steve Dempsey did, being audibly damned 
and re-engaged. And after dinner his six hours of 
linotyping did not prevent him from reading Jim’s 
belated editorial on Lenin, who had recently been 
buried. Steve thought that Jim’s estimate of Lenin, 
as a radical who dared change his mind and compro¬ 
mise with conservatives, was a sign of Jim’s own 
change of mind. Jim the conservative had re-en¬ 
gaged Steve Dempsey out of respect for liberal 
opinions, for Steve was liberal to the limit. And 
thus do philosophers bemuse themselves, while all 
the time the concrete facts are a girl or two. 

Carthage had no effect on Jim, but on Sallie it 
had a softening influence. She had been so dis¬ 
mayed by Jim’s confession that she had wished she 
might never see him again. A fault in Drom would 
have shocked her less. But Father Innisfail at least 
made her more forgiving. 

As for the Ballafletcher tale, she smiled at the 
priest’s sentimentality, and then felt resentful because 
he had made some Fletcher the head of a house. In 
theory Sallie was a perfect democrat, but in fact she 


February 8 5 

was the daughter of business men who had hired 
their advertising done. 

Ill 

That evening, as the note had intimated, Dromil- 
lard was eating at the Flower mansion. He had been 
invited by Miss Durand, but found himself alone 
with Sallie, her aunt being laid up with a cold. 

Jim’s original article on Carthage had of course 
angered him, and, what was more, alarmed him. 
A few more such attacks and his hopes might be 
ruined. In the second article he surmised the fine 
Italian hand of the Irish priest, and was even more 
alarmed. It was not like Jim to call in aid to fight 
his battles, but Jim was obviously doing it, and prob¬ 
ably paying the mercenary. 

Drom had not intended to propose so soon, but 
his hand was being forced. It was only a month 
since her arrival, but he decided to risk it. That 
defence of college boys could be made to apply, if 
necessary, to his own case. 

In the course of eating dinner he ventured to 
praise Father Innisfail’s picture of St. Augustine. 
He considered it a good piece of writing. Didn’t 
she? Why, yes, it was done in a decent journalistic 
style. And at this point she excused herself from the 
table to see what Morna wanted. 

Returning, she asked him how business was, and 
learned that it was still improving, so far as could be 


86 Sallie’s Newspaper 

expected in a state which tried to drive all business 
out of the state. 

“Take that item about corn. That was nothing 
but politics, an effort to prevent the manufacturers 
from getting the immigrant help they need. Sup¬ 
pose we do feed a good deal of corn to hogs. The 
United States has a million square miles that can 
raise corn, and we can support ten hundred million 
inhabitants.” 

“It sounds reasonable.” 

“Of course it’s reasonable. But Jim won’t listen 
to reason. If the mortgage indebtedness on farms 
increases, Jim gets scared. But if a corporation 
were to increase its mortgage indebtedness by bond 
issues, he’d say that’s good business.” 

“I don’t know much about it,” repeated Sallie, 
“but it sounds as if business were expanding.” 

“That’s just the point. And Jim needs to be edu¬ 
cated on such points. The middleman represents the 
most economical method of distribution that has been 
devised by the ingenuity of man since civilization be¬ 
gan to gather goods from the four corners of the 
earth. Farmers can’t market their own products.” 

“Perhaps not, Drom, but doesn’t it amuse an old 
gentleman like the late Mr. Kranz to think so? And 
wouldn’t it have been kind to give him a chance?” 

Drom nodded. He had come prepared to make 
concessions. “Sallie, would it please you very much 
if I gave up buying cheese?” 


February 


87 


“Yes, I think it would.” 

“Then I’ll do it.” 

The announcement was thrilling. It seemed to 
prove her theory. Drom was amenable to sugges¬ 
tion and capable of ideals. So when after dinner he 
declined to smoke but seemed unusually tender, she 
did not prevent him from going farther. 

“Sallie, I’ve got something to say to you that’s 
pretty important.” 

“Yes, Drom?” 

“Yes, Sallie. I’ve been thinking about it for a 
long time, and it has made a better man of me. 
When I came home from France I made up my mind 
that sooner or later I’d have to put the proposition 
up to you. I want the right to pay your bills. You 
don’t seem to care much about money, and you’re 
doing a dangerous thing with it just now, but that 
is your own affair. I’m worth twice as much as Jim 
Fletcher thinks I’m worth, and I’d like to spend it 
on you.” 

“Do you love me?” 

“Certainly. I’ve had other fancies, but I never 
took them seriously. And I want to show you that 
I love you in the right way.” 

There was silence. Sallie could hear her Aunt 
Jo faintly coughing, far away upstairs. She was 
glad that Drom wanted to love her in the right way, 
but she almost wished that he loved her in the wrong 
way too. 


88 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Presently she blushed, realizing that she was not 
the sort to set any man on fire. 

“Drom, I hardly know what to say. I love the 
flowers you keep sending me, aild I’m inclined to ac¬ 
cept you, but it makes me a little cross to realize that 
we are both so matter of fact. I know I’m not 
pretty, but I wish to goodness that some man could 
go crazy about me.” 

“I’m crazy about you.” 

“That’s polite, but it doesn’t ring true.” 

Drom flushed and rose. In a second he had caught 
her up and was crushing her close to him. She 
struggled, but she was powerless in that mighty 
grasp. He pressed his lips close upon hers. 

“Please let me go.” 

He released her, and she preened her feathers. 

“Sweetheart, will your aunt announce our engage¬ 
ment, or shall I send an announcement to the paper?” 

“Neither, Drom, just yet. I’d like to know if you 
ever hugged any other girl as fiercely as that?” 

Drom hesitated, but he was not a liar. 

“Yes, I have.” 

She waited for more, but it did not come. 

“Well, Drom, I need time to get used to your 
bearish ways. I didn’t suppose you were like that, 
but I see that you really are crazy about me, and I 
suppose that ought to satisfy me. I must go now and 
see if Aunt Jo wants anything.” 

She gave him her hand, and he crushed it to his 
lips. 


February 


89 


From Aunt Jo’s window she watched him as he 
departed. The evening was mild, and he was carry¬ 
ing his overcoat on his arm. He made a heroic 
figure. She could see him dimly all the way down 
the walk, proceeding with springy step. He was evi¬ 
dently very happy, and she did not regret giving him 
hope. She saw him still better as he approached the 
electric moon that Sam Glendower had installed out¬ 
side the gate. 

But just as he stepped into the radiance of it, she 
saw a young woman enter the grounds. It was no¬ 
body she knew. The approaching caller was plainly 
dressed, and did not seem unusual except in the grace 
of her gait. 

Drom raised his soft hat and was about to pass, 
but the girl stopped him. They talked, till Drom 
shook his head and again attempted to pass. She 
opposed him, and Drom made a rush. It was un¬ 
availing. The girl caught him round the middle, 
lifted him off his feet, swung him to her right hip, 
and advanced toward the house. Her left hand was 
free, and she wrenched his overcoat from him and 
carried it on her left arm. 

Sallie was naturally astounded. She stood watch¬ 
ing the impossible and moving fact till it disappeared 
under the roof of the porch. Then she heard the 
polite trill of the electric bell. 

“I hope that’s Mr. Fletcher,” said Aunt Jo. “I 
haven’t seen him in the longest while. Why does he 
never come any more?” 


90 Sallie’s Newspaper 

“Because I asked him to stay away till I sent for 
him.” 

Sallie moved to the door and descended. When 
she reached the drawing room, there sat her caller, 
holding Dromillard Schmit on her lap by main force. 

“I was coming to tell you something, but I meet 
dis big coward and I bring him along. Now tell 
her.” 

Drom was silent. His mouth and powerful jaw 
was shut, clamped, and crimson. 

“He will not tell. He is too mad to tell. My 
good Pastor Bock came to my house tonight, and 
now I know somethings. Dis big coward was with 
Mr. Jim Fletcher when those two bad boys went 
by some bad place with one very wicked man who is 
dead now, and I am glad he is dead. Dis big coward 
saw that wicked man hit Mr. Fletcher, and he has 
not helped Mr. Fletcher. Once I put my arms 
around dis big coward, and he liked it. So now I 
put my arms around him again, and he does not like 
it. But he can get up.” 

“I presume,” said Sallie, as Drom arose, “that 
you are the Miss Sandowina Schmidt that I have 
read about in the paper. If so, let me tell you that 
you have done a very rude thing.” 

“Rude? What it is?” 

“Rude means the sort of thing you do. You are 
like that Rhodesian savage who was mentioned in 
the paper. You stop a gentleman on the street, and 


February 


91 


cart him into my house as if he were a bag of cab¬ 
bage for your father’s sauerkraut factory. And you 
sit down with him on my most fragile rosewood 
chair.” 

Sandowina arose and took another seat. 

“I didn’t ask you to change cars, Miss Sandowina 
Schmidt. If you had any sense of decency, you’d 
take yourself right out of my house.” 

Sandowina put her hand in her pocket and reflec¬ 
tively drew out a package of chewing gum adorned 
with green imps. She extracted a piece and put it in 
her mouth. 

“I go out of your house just as soon as you tell 
Mr. Drom Schmit where he gets off. You tell him 
if he wants to marry somebody, he marry me.” 

“Drom,” said Sallie, “come here.” 

The President of the Association of Commerce ad¬ 
vanced to Sallie’s side. 

“This gentleman,” said she, “is my future hus¬ 
band. You will see our engagement announced in 
tomorrow’s paper.” 

“I don’t think so. I made up my mind I marry 
him myself.” 

Sallie did not answer, but sternly fixed her eyes 
on Sandowina’s. The spell began to work. San¬ 
dowina arose automatically and moved slowly toward 
the hall. But at the door she found her voice. 

“If you put it in the paper you will marry him, my 
good Pastor Bock will preach one sermon about 
him.” 


# 


92 Sallie’s Newspaper 

When the door had closed upon the terror of San- 
dowina, Sallie turned to Dromillard. 

“Would her pastor do that?” 

“It’s possible.” 

“Then I will not ask Jim to print anything about 
us just yet. Good night.” 

IV 

On Sunday, the third of February, Woodrow Wil¬ 
son died. On the same day excavators brought to 
light the sarcophagus of a young Egyptian King, 
dead these thirty-two centuries, whose name meant 
“The Living Image of Ammon.” 

Some difference, thought Jim, between the day 
when a youth was blindly obeyed as the living image 
of God and the day when any editor felt competent 
to sit in judgment on the greatest idealist of the time. 
Some difference between the respect rendered Tut- 
engk-Amon and the lack of respect rendered Wood- 
row Wilson. But in his editorial on Wilson he did 
not attempt to cover so much history. He merely 
paid a tribute of respect to his old commander, and 
reprinted Wilson’s fourteen points. 

There were readers in Seganku who lingered long 
on those fourteen points, wondering why the world 
had not been intelligent enough to follow them and 
so save years of needless suffering. But a news¬ 
paper has to contain trivial items as well as important 
items. And one of the trivial items in Monday’s 


February 


93 


paper caused a good deal of amusement. This was 
an article from the pen of a child, secured for publi¬ 
cation by the mischievous linotyper, Piet Kwekke- 
boom. Piet had entered heartily into the new re¬ 
gime, for he had long been bored by the reticent 
sobriety of the Sun. For three years he had been 
compelled to set up the proceedings of the common 
council in full, down to the most trivial report of 
the humblest committees. And since Monday would 
begin the second semester of the school year, he had 
now secured an interview with Aphrodite Spartali, 
and set it without showing it to the editor till it was 
in proof. It ran thus: 

FIFTH GRADE. 

By Aphrodite Spartali 

I will not start fif till Monday and so I have to use 
my magination how it will be. I think it will be the 
same but some supprizes, probly fractions will be awful 
and I will read John Dark, he is some french hero, I 
wish his name was Jim Dark. I have to use my magi¬ 
nation about fif how it will be but my Uncle Alexander 
says he dont use his no more, it dont get him nowhere. 
He works for Piet Kwekkyboom’s father in the enam- 
mel works, he says the less you think the better the boss 
likes you but my teacher said we must use my magi¬ 
nation. She is my old teacher, I will always love her 
and I suppose my new one but I have to use my 
magination. 

I hope I dont brake my arm again in fif because I can 
do my babes pretty fast and my putses my ups and 
double up and downs and double downs and my pigs 


94 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


in the pen, pigs over the fence and deaf and dumb 
noodles when my arm aint broke. Faster than teacher 
but she was good for a teacher, only all teachers is 
clumbsy with jacks. It is not fun to brake your arm 
except Docter Schaefer said why my goodness this child 
has a bone in her arm and made me laf. Many kind 
and obbliging frends sent me flowers, the first one was 
the best, it is no use to say who it was but he is my hero. 

I ast Dr. Schaefer what bone and he said ulner and I 
ast him if snow birds has ulners and he said yest all 
creetures has ulners except clams. 

Doctor Schaefer’s name is Pete, you don’t spell it 
like you spell the other one. Pete said he was sorry 
I diddnt brake my nose, he made lots of noses on boys 
in france, he showed me the pictures, they was alright. 
Thank you Pete I dont want to brake my nose because 
I supose I will marry somebody when I grow up, I hope 
he will have laffing eyes like my hero. So if I was a man 
and wanted to marry a girl I would have to use my 
magination and if at first you dont succeed try try again. 

I do solemnly swear I have neither given nor received 
help in answering these questions. We dont have to 
say this but Piet made me. He teached me to swear, 
this is the other Piet, the nawty one. He said reporters 
takes what is fixed up for them by the publissity man 
and it is a dam shame, reporters ought to make a man 
swear and a woman too. Anyhow I know how to spell 
too , teacher said she would learn me or die in the at- 
temp. Piet said every tub ought to stand on its own 
bottom. But no child can, but I know what he means, 
poor fellar .—Aphrodite Spartali, aged thirteen . 

From this brave effort Jim gathered that Aphro¬ 
dite was well disposed toward himself, and was giv¬ 
ing him advice. Also he recognized that Aphrodite 
was thoroughly Americanized. Furthermore he per¬ 
ceived that though she was two or three years behind 


February 95 


in her studies, she was not entirely lacking in intelli¬ 
gence. 

On Tuesday he introduced the man whom he con¬ 
sidered his most important new contributor: 

Editorials —Today the Sun welcomes to 
its columns a gentleman who writes 
anonymously, but who is no other than 
Dr. Wookey Napper, the distinguished 
biologist. Few are aware that Dr. Nap¬ 
per is perhaps the greatest living au¬ 
thority on the chemical relations of 
leaves and muscles. Eventually his 
writings will have a bearing on agri¬ 
culture. Meantime he will write for 
the Sun without recompense. His con¬ 
tribution today appears under the head¬ 
ing “Seganku Types.” We have not 
read it. We have been reminded by the 
owner of the Sun that our editorials 
are not always in perfect taste, and we 
suspect that the first sprightly runnings 
of the new Scientific Editor may be 
open to the same criticism. 

Of course all of Wookey’s old pupils immediately 
skipped from E to S, and read: 

Seganku Types. —Last Saturday’s Sun 
contains an article in which it is made 
to appear that the Fletcher family is 
of Celtic origin. This is very unlikely. 

The Manx house of Fletcher is prob¬ 
ably not more than two hundred years 
old, and was doubtless founded by a 
settler from England. Writers should 
make it clear whether they use the 
word Celt in a linguistic or in an 
ethnological sense. Various racial 
stocks spoke Celtic, but a true Celt is 
an Alpine, short-headed, dark, and 
brown-eyed. 

The prevailing stock in Seganku is 
Nordic. Most of our citizens have long 
heads, blue eyes, and stubborn dispo¬ 
sitions. Today we shall describe two 
very different specimens of the Nordic 
type. 


9 6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


J is of Norman and Anglo-Saxon 
origin. He is not quite six feet tall. 
He has a long and muscular neck, pow¬ 
erful sloping shoulders, full round 
chest, long lithe legs, small ankles, and 
full-muscled calves. He is a runner 
and a jumper, locally famous for his 
handsprings. On another page will be 
found a picture of him as he looked 
about fourteen years ago, clad in trunks 
but no shoes, standing with a com¬ 
panion, D. 

J’s biceps is only so so, and he is not 
much of a lifter. On the other hand 
he is not easily winded, and can de¬ 
liver a hard blow if necessary. In fact 
J never had any notion of how hard 
he struck. 

J’s face is long, the breadth of it 
being only 91.14 percent of his head- 
breadth. He has “laughing” blue eyes, 
and brown hair that inclines to curl. 
He smiles often and kindly. 

J is a light eater and assimilates his 
food perfectly. He has never had a 
headache or a toothache. His prospects 
for long life are excellent. He will re¬ 
main young and active. He will never 
grow too old to romp with his boys. 

In contrast to all this, D is a Teuton 
modified by French blood. His neck is 
short and his musculature recalls the 
muscles of Prince Maurice of Saxony, 
who broke horseshoes with his hands, 
but who met his match in Mile. Gautier, 
an actress, who rolled up silver platters 
as if they were newspapers. Such rare 
persons as Mile. Gautier and Miss San- 
dowina Schmidt are provided with very 
numerous minute bands of muscles that 
cinch the larger muscles and double 
their power. 

Though D is a powerful creature, his 
serratus magnus is not so strong as 
that of J. This fan-like muscle, which 
connects the ribs with the shoulder 
blade and arms, produces elevation of 
the ribs and inspiration of air. In the 
picture it will be noted that D is lean¬ 
ing forward and holding to the fence 
of the high school yard, while J stands 
erect and smiling. The two boys had 
been racing, and D was out of breath. 


February 


97 


He instinctively reached for the fence, 
because this support fixed his arms and 
made it easier for his serratus magnus 
to draw his ribs up. 

The face-breadth of D is 98.11 per¬ 
cent of his head-breadth. Some of this 
great width is due to a slight admix¬ 
ture of Indian blood, which is ulti¬ 
mately Mongolian blood. The eyelids 
of D are heavy, often concealing most 
of the pupil. The color of this is blue 
tinged with brown. D is a heavy eater. 
At present he can digest anything, but 
he is forced to spend much time in ex¬ 
ercises designed to prevent his waist 
from waxing. His prospects for long 
life are not so good as those of J, and 
yet he may easily live to a gouty old 
age. 

If the picture be studied with a 
microscope, a difference will be discov¬ 
ered between the feet of these two ath¬ 
letes. Both have shapely extremities, 
but in the case of J the big toe dom¬ 
inates the others, while in the case of 
D the second toe is longer than the big 
toe. Formerly the long second toe was 
called the Greek ideal, but it is now 
recognized as ape-like. It is not a com¬ 
mon deformity. Flower has told us— 
not Hodge Flower or Durand Flower, 
but Sir William, the anatomist—that on 
examining the bare feet of hundreds of 
Perthshire children he did not find a 
single example of a second toe that 
protruded beyond the big toe. The de¬ 
formity is frequent among Australian 
bushmen, but the possession of such a 
toe is no disgrace. It ill becomes us 
to ridicule each other’s toes when we 
are all afflicted with hands. 

The human hand, once regarded as 
the noblest work of God, is a humiliat¬ 
ing survival. It is merely a grasping 
organ. Our arboreal ancestors grasped 
boughs, and we grasp hoes, steering 
gears, and pens. Man feels lost if he 
has nothing to grasp. He can extend 
his grasp by means of pincers and 
steam shovels, but all tools owe their 
existence to the grasping reflex. 

A man can refine his grasp till it 
can gently take up a letter, or hold 


98 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


with tenderness a treasured lock of 
hair, for instance that of a woman who 
refused him in marriage. We elevate 
the grasping reflex into spiritual signi¬ 
ficance. We grasp a thought, compre¬ 
hend a refusal, get a grip on ourselves, 
hold off from intruding, cling to duty. 
Conversely we disapprove of grabbing 
and snatching. 

J is farther from the apes than D is, 
and yet J is fonder of trees. He was 
so agile a climber that he was nick¬ 
named Jim Pansy, which seems to be 
a boyish joke for chimpanzee. D was 
no climber, and on the race track was 
so slow that he was called the Drome¬ 
dary. D’s greatest success was in 
wrestling. His bear hug is remembered 
with painful vividness. D is quick to 
seize an opportunity and hold on. This 
cannot be said of J, who seems to care 
little for the prizes of life. Both men 
are in love with the same girl, but D 
will undoubtedly get her. 


This quaint article set the whole population to 
looking at their toes. Men who had not examined 
their toes since babyhood now did so. Even Pastor 
Bock stole away at bedtime for this purpose, and 
breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that his second 
toe was short. It puzzled him a little to know 
whether toes were made in the image of God, or not. 

As for Jim, he undressed at midnight and lay 
staring at his public feet. They did not seem to be¬ 
long to him. They were a distant, mountainous sky¬ 
line. They had often run a hundred yards in eleven 
seconds, and had never been able to do it in ten flat. 
He sadly realized that man is timed to the fraction 
of a second. Therefore he thought it useless to 
dream of happy endings. 


February 


99 


Having come to this gloomy conclusion, Jim went 
to sleep. When he awoke, the white sun was slanting 
into his window. He vaguely remembered that 
somebody had been praising his body. So after his 
bath he tried to see if he could turn a handspring 
backward, without loosening the plaster in the old 
parlor underneath. He succeeded so well that he de¬ 
termined to turn a handspring backwards every 
morning till he could do it as softly as a cat would 
do it if she could do it at all. 

Meantime Dromillard had studied the article with¬ 
out losing his temper. He did not mind the publicity. 
In business fashion he simmered it down to one point, 
and told Marie that hereafter he would have no 
more pastry in the house. She answered that pastry 
agreed with her and that she was not going to give 
it up. Instead of rebuking her for her impertinence, 
Drom stopped eating pastry. 

As for Sallie, the article hit her pretty hard. Was 
all Seganku trying to make her marry Jim Fletcher? 
In particular her old teacher was guilty of excess of 
participation. She felt that this was peculiarly im¬ 
pertinent in Dr. Napper because he had not had the 
decency to call on her. 

The article of course showed her that she had not 
been sufficiently critical in thinking about Drom. Her 
admiration for his physique would have to be modi¬ 
fied a little. But being convinced of this merely made 
her angry. So when on Wednesday morning she 


IOO 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


called Jim on the telephone, her voice sounded 
frozen. Her tongue moved as little as possible in 
the process of informing him that her Aunt Jose¬ 
phine would like to see him at five o’clock. She add¬ 
ed, “if convenient,” but it did not thaw her voice 
much. 

V 

Five o’clock came with punctuality, and so did the 
editor. He turned into the Flower gate and ad¬ 
vanced up the walk. Since the weather was crisp, he 
was a little surprised to see the head and shoulders 
of Miss Sara Durand Flower up in the sky. That 
cupola must be chilly. 

“Well, Mr. Fletcher, how is business?” 

“Why, business is fine. The average price of land 
in Seganku county is $203.28, an increase of eighty 
percent in ten years. Ten years more and we mort¬ 
gage holders shall be operating the farms as a syndi¬ 
cate.” 

Miss Josephine laughed. “I’m afraid you envy 
him.” 

“I do indeed. But am I summoned to discuss 
business?” 

“Not exactly. You are lured to repeat your in¬ 
vitation. It was an invitation, wasn’t it?” 

“It was indeed. We are shockingly ill provided 
with etiquette in Seganku. Now a little department 
edited by Aunt Jo—” 


February i o i 

“Oh, no, Mr. Fletcher! I’m only thirty-five, goin’ 
on thirty-six.” 

“Very well, we’ll kill the aunt. But how happy 
you make me!” 

“Mr. Fletcher, you may not be so happy after I’ve 
blundered in. This is a dangerous venture. Do you 
realize that books of etiquette exist only for the 
newly rich?” 

“The phrase fits us, Miss Durand. We wish to 
know how to dress our butlers as soon as we venture 
on butlers, which may be any minute now.” 

“Heavens!” 

“And you will be so gracious as to announce that 
you will answer questions. The girls will wish to 
weep on your shoulder. That is why it would be so 
charming if the etiquette editor could be known as 
Aunt Jo. Have we some copy ready?” 

“No, but your call may inspire some.” 

“Thank you. And if it is etiquette to ask, what 
do we pay you?” 

“Mr. Fletcher, considering your promise to send 
me a floral bucket, and considering my desire to 
write exactly what I please, I must decline to be 
paid. It rather goes against the grain, for the 
Durands are stingy, but I cannot be hired.” 

“Miss Durand, the phrases used by the most val¬ 
ued members of my staff have a curiously similar 
sound.” 

For some obscure reason Miss Josephine blushed 
and changed the subject. 


102 


bailie’s Newspaper 


“What do you suppose Sallie is reading?” 

“Aristotle.” 

“No.” 

“Seed catalogues.” 

“No, she is reading up the status of farm-mort¬ 
gages and the banks. She was driven to it by your 
report of last week that the Supreme Court forbids 
national banks to establish branches.” 

“Miss Josephine, she is more probably up there 
to avoid meeting black sheep.” 

Miss Josephine looked grave for a minute. But 
just then a maid came wheeling in a triumph of archi¬ 
tecture laden with China’s earth and smoking tides* 
Therefore it was etiquette for the Etiquette Editor 
to injure the Editor’s appetite. She did so effectively, 
and let him go home to dinner. 

On Friday, the eighth, he printed the new con¬ 
tributor as follows: 

Etiquette.—Under this head the Eti¬ 
quette Editor will set down her thoughts 
and answer questions as well as she 
can. Today we discuss giving: 

1. A flower is always a pretty gift. 

A single inexpensive flower is just as 
dear as a cluster of orchids to an old 
lady, a sick child, or a sweetheart. 

2. A book is a pretty gift if it is 
chosen to fit the person to whom it is 
given. This is particularly true of 
books designed for young girls. 

3. It is etiquette to beg gifts for a 
good cause. It makes us a nation of 
beggars, but it is etiquette. If every¬ 
body has a right to keep all he can 
earn, he must not complain if most 
of it is begged away from him. 

4. It is perfect etiquette to sell all 


February 


103 


one’s goods and give to the poor. This 
doctrine comes to us from Jesus, the 
greatest authority on manners that ever 
lived. Americans have followed his ad¬ 
vice to the extent of giving fifty-eight 
million dollars to the relief of starv¬ 
ing Russian babies. It has been the 
conviction of Americans that Russian 
children ought not to suffer for the bad 
political opinions of their parents, or 
for their inclination to drink too much 
vodka. Also Americans have given 
some seven hundred million dollars to 
colleges. Very likely some of these 
millions have merely served to produce 
fast livers, but nevertheless it is eti¬ 
quette. 

With this maiden effort of Aunt Jo the Editor 
was more than pleased. It seemed to him that she 
was breaking away from hackneyed models and 
demurely applying her modern knowledge to mod¬ 
ern problems. And to show the power of the press 
we must admit that the article had an effect on Segan- 
ku. Otto Capps sent his mother’s copy of Baxter’s 
“Saints’ Rest” to the widow of Henry Kranz. 
Father Innisfail decided that he would do some more 
begging, and so did the chairman of the Eagles’ 
building-fund committee. Drom decided that he 
would import no more orchids from Chicago. Pas¬ 
tor Bock, having read the fourth point, saw that 
Jesus was being quoted in a most reckless manner, 
and began a sermon on Christian liberty, to refute 
this dangerous new writer. 

Several young girls received appropriate books, 
which ranged from “Little Women” to “Pollyanna.” 
One however received a book that was different. 


104 Sallie’s Newspaper 

Little Aphrodite Spartali, aged thirteen, daughter of 
the highly successful Greek who owned the Spartali 
Block, received a volume that was exceedingly dif¬ 
ferent. It was not sent her through the mail or 
brought to her by any delivery wagon. It was 
slipped into her hand, securely wrapped, as she was 
nearing home in the dusk of Saturday. After look¬ 
ing it over that evening, she hid it where nobody 
would be likely to find it. 

VI 

On Monday, the eleventh, the Federal Trade 
Commission issued a complaint charging that the 
makers of farm machinery were refusing supplies 
to farmers’ co-operative associations. Jim believed 
it. Though independent in politics he had long 
been accustomed to fight the farmer’s battle, and he 
minced no words when he wrote his editorial for 
Tuesday. He said that a great deal of crime fails 
to be recognized as crime. He said that law can 
never catch up with all the new crimes that modern 
civilization makes possible, but that nobody likes to 
think of himself as criminal. 

On Tuesday a labor leader made his first address 
in the English parliament as prime minister. To 
Jim’s mind there was nothing very strange in this. 
He was not surprised by the fact that such a thing 
had not happened before in the history of the world. 
He believed that the advance of factories and ma- 


February 


io 5 


chinery would sooner or later give every country a 
political personage like Ramsay MacDonald. 

Tuesday was also Lincoln’s birthday, and Dr, 
Napper contributed a pointed paragraph; 

Xiincoln.—The subject most important 
to be taught to American youth is the 
early life of Abraham Lincoln. The 
things that made him were manual 
labor and responsibility. These are the 
real foundations of any education worth 
having. It is not enough for boys to 
read about them. Boys must perform 
manual labor and assume responsibility. 

Wealth would have ruined even the boy 
Lincoln. 

Whatever the schoolboys of Seganku were think¬ 
ing about the great unselfish toiler, one young 
woman was certainly looking to him for guidance. 
Sallie knew that she owned many farm-mortgages, 
and was wondering what Lincoln would have done 
if he had owned them. Ever since Dirck Kloot 
hanged himself she had been worrying about the 
subject, and now she made up her mind to ask 
Uncle Henry certain questions about it. 

Next day the Attorney-General informed the 
President that the courts had recovered more than 
four millions lost through war frauds, and were en¬ 
deavoring to recover fifty-eight millions more. Sal- 
lie thereupon wondered how much of her own three 
millions had been accumulated through fraud. Not 
a cent, so far as she knew, but her conscience was be¬ 
coming sensitive. That Americans should rob their 
own government of sixty-two millions in time of war 


io 6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


seemed to her to uncover much criminal carelessness, 
or rather callousness. 

Thursday was St. Valentine’s day, and Drom sent 
her some wonderful flowers from Jim Mathewson’s 
in Sheboygan, but they were only roses, not orchids. 
Also on Thursday the Etiquette Editor, ignoring St. 
Valentine, discussed calls: 

Etiquette. —1. When social calls are 
made by party telephone, they should 
not exceed a minute. The Seganku tele¬ 
phone company permits four minutes, 
but to use four is not etiquette. Men 
will not marry girls who are known 
to be telephone gossips. Such girls 
may prevent calling the doctor and the 
fireman, and therefore may uninten¬ 
tionally kill their neighbors’ children 
and burn down their neighbors’ houses. 

2. It is etiquette not to call upon a 
lady who has cake in the oven. 

3. It is etiquette for a man to call 
upon a woman whose hair he preserves. 

4. It is etiquette for girls to receive 
calls from men in their own homes, 
and for chaperons to leave the young 
folks much alone. Men, however, are 
subject to sudden attacks of passion, 
and girls should be on their guard. As 
to the difference between passion and 
love, we refer inquirers to the gentle¬ 
man at the adjoining desk, who writes 
on biology. We agree with him that 
even the noblest man is an animal. 

Answers to Inquirers.—S. S. Thank 
you very much. I will come tomorrow 
evening, and with pleasure. 

Having read this article, five youths in five dif¬ 
ferent houses decided to call on Sallie Flower. And 
that evening Dr. Wookey Napper might have been 
seen in Mit Wipperman’s haberdashery, choosing a 
necktie. He had an excellent eye for color and de- 


February 


107 


sign, and if he had been choosing a cravat to serve 
as a picture, to be framed and hung on the wall, he 
would have succeeded nobly. 

Meantime Piet Kwekkeboom’s sister, Carita, had 
been deeply interested in the Etiquette articles. She 
was dying to know who wrote them, and dying to 
know who “S.S.” was. 

After dinner on Friday something impelled her to 
go and call on the Hugo Schmidts. 

Her intuition was beautifully rewarded. The 
door was opened for her by a butler. Carita knew 
him for a butler instantly—she had seen pictures. 
This personage conducted her into the living room as 
safely as if he had known the house for a month. 

There in silence sat Hugo and his wife and the 
aged cat, all reading the paper. Hugo was impres¬ 
sive in his evening clothes, which were the first that 
Carita or anybody else had ever seen him in. His 
burly frame, kept spare by years of lactic acid taken 
through the pleasant medium of sauerkraut, shone 
like the Prince of Ethiopia. His hair was the color 
of our sustaining corn. And his wife, though evi¬ 
dently longing to be in her kitchen, was jimp in the 
middle and regal in pussywillow purple. 

Carita had some difficulty in avoiding homely top¬ 
ics, for she came of a family that did its own work. 
It had never occurred to the Kwekkebooms that 
anybody but themselves could prepare chocolate cor¬ 
rectly. But she soon found that the Schmidts were 


io8 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


essentially unchanged. They were still simple souls. 
They were merely trying to live up to Sandowina. 

After a decent pause Mrs. Schmidt escorted Car- 
ita into the parlor. There sat Sandowina and Jose¬ 
phine Durand, tete-a-tete. Sandowina arose with 
grace. 

“Good evening, kleines Dutch girl. Let me pre¬ 
sent you to Miss Durand, which I invited to dinner 
to teach me somethings.” 

That “let me present you” went straight to Cari- 
ta’s heart. 

“I’m tickled to death to be presented to Miss 
Durand. She has sort of taken me for granted ever 
since I was a baby. It’s time she admitted that I’m 
grown up.” 

“I not only admit it,” said Jo, “but I am prepared 
to suffer indignities at the hands of Piet’s wicked 
little sister.” 

“Well, I didn’t entirely come to spy on you. I 
want to carry Sandowina off on Sunday to have din¬ 
ner with my family.” 

“May I inquire,” said Sandowina, “if you are go¬ 
ing to church first? I have to do that, you know.” 

“Assuredly. Pastor Bock will preach about Abra¬ 
ham Lincoln, and my grandmother can tell us lots 
of stories. She knows how Illinois came to be 
divided from Wisconsin so far north.” 

“Thank you, dear, I shall be delighted. But I do 
not know what it is, how Illinois and what you said.” 


February 109 

“Miss Josephine can explain. She is so old, so 
awful old—” 

“She appears to me,” said Sandowina, “exceed¬ 
ingly well preserved.” 

Carita kept her face straight. She could not know 
that the earnest pupil had merely repeated what Miss 
Josephine had said about the cat. 

“I have often heard that story from Madam 
Kwekkeboom,” smiled Miss Josephine. 

“Madam Kwekkeboom,” murmured the pupil, 
treasuring up this charming expression, which evi¬ 
dently meant the old woman as distinguished from 
Carita’s mother. 

“It seems,” went on Miss Josephine, “that origi¬ 
nally they planned to make Lincoln a southerner. 
They planned to separate Illinois and Wisconsin at 
the very tip of Lake Michigan. But a certain Illi¬ 
nois congressman named Judge Pope saw that this 
wouldn’t do. If a dispute arose between north and 
south, Illinois would go with the south. All her 
rivers would be running south, and all her sympathies 
would run the same way. So Judge Pope had the 
boundary pushed forty miles north till it included a 
little watershed, and Illinois became identified with 
the north.” 

“Fine!” cried Sandowina. “I extend my hearty 
congratulations to Judge Pope.” 

“Then you will come with us after church?” 

“I will, dearest Carita. Am I a stop-gap?” 


no 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“No, indeed!” 

“I wish I would be a stop-gap some time, because 
I know a good word to say: ‘There is nothing I 
like better than to at the same time serve you and 
dine with you. Tomorrow evening I will do my 
best to persuade you that the obligation and pleasure 
are all on my side.’ Ain’t that swell?” 

“It is indeed,” murmured her mentor. “Don’t go 
too fast, dear.” 

“Miss Durand,” said the earnest pupil, “I haf to 
go so fast as I can. He has got to change his mind 
right away pretty quick now.” 

VII 

On Sunday afternoon the five youths who had de¬ 
cided to call on Sallie did so, only to find that she 
was out. Each was entertained for a few minutes 
by the lady who had egged them on, though they 
never suspected that it was she who did it. They 
thought her pretty and witty, but they also thought 
how dreadful it must be to be so old. 

But when in the evening shadows Dr. Napper ap¬ 
peared, he was astonished to see how young she 
looked. In he came, ruddy with the cold. His 
temples were gray, but his smooth thin face had not 
changed its humorous expression since last she saw 
him. Perhaps a chosen friend of dogs never does 
seem old. 


February 


hi 


“It looks,” said Jo as she helped him off with his 
overcoat, “as if you received my communication.” 

“I did. My remarks about treasuring hair proved 
more stimulating to your sex than I had any reason 
to expect.” 

“Stop your nonsense and compose yourself in the 
largest chair you can find. Where on earth did you 
get that cravat?” 

“It is plumage, woman, meant to attract you.” 

“Well, it really is a beautiful tie, even if it does 
make you look like a carpet slipper. But there is 
something pathetic in your putting it on for my sake.” 

“Not so pathetic, Jo, as the closing sentence of 
your last article.” 

“Wasn’t it true?” 

“Perfectly true, but I have rarely been so grieved. 
I had hoped you would never admit that man is an 
animal.” 

“Wookey, you don’t know what it cost me to 
admit it.” 

“Ah, Jo, you never understood.” 

“Wookey, I’m not going to quarrel with you. You 
were always kind, but you did make fun of my re¬ 
ligion, and I couldn’t stand it.” 

“My dearest Jo, mankind never did a better day’s 
work than when it spun your religion. It created 
just the sort of symbols needed for high endeavor in 
a temperate climate. It admonishes us to work, for 
the night is coming. It speaks of apples, and a 


I 12 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


pair of young folks bravely trying to understand 
their own bodies by considering apples. It is all very 
human and inspiring.” 

“Wookey, you shall not be nice to me till I have 
made my full confession. I admit that I am 
descended from a lungfish.” 

“Slow, slow, sweet woman! You are not required 
to admit any such thing. Don’t exalt hypothesis into 
dogma, like a theologian.” 

“Wookey, I do not quibble. I go the whole ape, 
the whole reptile, the whole fish.” 

“But, Jo, this is shocking. It more befits you to 
call yourself an immortal soul, lodged in a tenement 
of clay. And maybe you are, for all I know.” 

“I don’t care. When you tell me that the same 
spot in my brain governs my big toe that in your 
dog governs his, I love your dog. When you tell 
me that iodine will cure thyroid trouble in me or in 
a trout, I warm to the trout.” 

“Alas,” sighed Wookey, “here I have been wor¬ 
shipping you for years and years, and now you sink 
to my level. You invade my brook. You grovel 
with me in the gravel.” 

“Are you sorry you came?” 

“No. But, dearest Jo, I am a very unimportant 
animal.” 

“My dearest man, do you know the so-called 
bundle of His?” 

“I’ve dissected it many times.” 


February 


ii3 

“Well, Wookey, in the middle of my heart that 
bundle makes it beat in a certain order. I’ve read 
that the same bundle is found in the frog. But I am 
more lonely than any frog.” 

Wookey was silent. 

“You don’t quite know how to begin, do you? Or 
don’t you want to begin?” 

“Jo, I’ve kept you in the sky so long that I don’t 
dare touch you.” 

She came and sat on his knee. 

“Put your arms around me and see if the grasping 
reflex is quite lost.” 

It proved on experiment to be quite intact. 
Though Drom’s might have registered higher on a 
dial, Wookey’s was adequate. 

“But to live in a cottage, Jo!” 

“I’ve always wanted it.” 

“But to forego travel, Jo.” 

“You are my tropics and my Italy.” 

“Can we be married tomorrow?” 

“Not so soon. We’ve got to get Sallie married 
first.” 

At this dash of ice-water he relaxed his grasp. 
She kissed him and disappeared from the room. 

The biologist then strove to fix his mind on Sallie. 
It was no use. Sallie slid off him. Sallie escaped like 
an after-image to follow which one vainly rolls the 
eye back. He was mad with content. He sat and 
dreamed of Jo. 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


114 

Presently she returned, wheeling supper in. For 
this, in faith believing, she had made sly prepara¬ 
tions. 

He ate, but a subtler appetite was upon him. He 
would lay down his fork upon his Maryland chicken, 
wipe his lips carefully, go round and kiss Jo, and re¬ 
sume his seat. If he did this once, he did it six or 
seven times. 

But by and by the ascetic habit of years began to 
reassert itself. 

“This Sallie, you say—” 

“Must be married.” 

“To whom”—Wookey spoke in a sudden intoxi¬ 
cation of power—“shall we marry her?” 

“I should like to marry her to Jim Fletcher.” 

“So should I. So would a few others. But we 
are in a minority. The town in mass meeting as¬ 
sembled would give her to the big Teuton.” 

“Wookey, what is it we object to?” 

“A probable clash of wills. How has the girl de¬ 
veloped?” 

“She is a very nice, stubborn girl, with a charming 
frankness that is misleading. She does not unbosom 
herself to me. I suspect that she talks more openly 
to Jim.” 

“Instinct, Jo. But at twenty-four she ought to be¬ 
gin to know her own mind. Were there admirers in 
California?” 

“Plenty of them, but she was quite sure that all 


February 


ii 5 

were after her money, and she never gave them any 
opening. She thinks she is homely.” 

“Is she?” 

“When her face is in repose, yes. When her eyes 
light up, no.” 

“Do they light up readily?” 

“Not for everyone. She is prettiest when talking 
to Jim, but she won’t see him—since that accident.” 

“I think I must have a look at her.” 

“Well, come in for dinner tomorrow evening. She 
is spending tonight with the Glendowers. What can 
you tell by looking at her?” 

“Nothing, probably, unless she has a theory. I 
suspect that she has theories. Consider this highly 
original transformation of the paper. The mer¬ 
chants don’t know what to make of it, but they are 
submitting with good grace. She’s practicing pater¬ 
nalism on this town, and perhaps she is looking for 
a man to help her.” 

“But in that case, wouldn’t Jim be the natural 
candidate?” 

“Hardly, sweet woman. Teachers and journalists 
are small potatoes and few in a hill. Are you rich, 
Jo?” 

“No, dear.” 

“Thank God.” 

“But I have enough to take care of you if you get 
sick.” 

“Stop ! Tempt me not. Rather come and sit with 


ii 6 Sallie’s Newspaper 

me on that deep thing over there. I wish to tell you 
that I love you, and it will take hours.” 

VII 

As her aunt had remarked to Dr. Napper, Sallie 
was spending the evening with the Glendowers. This 
was especially because Tally was home for the day. 

She was very much surprised, however, to find 
that he was planning to leave for Chicago at ten 
o’clock and make the trip in his car by night. That, 
she thought, was too much like his father’s leaving 
at midnight for New York. Surely the intellectual 
life did not call for such close calculations and so 
much strain. 

All through supper he seemed to her to be under 
the remnants, as it were, of strain. His fingers often 
tapped the table a moment as if impatient. He 
quizzed her about her college course in California 
as if he were a prosecuting attorney, and seemed to 
take delight in making her now and then a little 
ridiculous. There was in him the lust to conquer her 
intellectually, without the slightest regard as to how 
she might feel. And Mr. Glendower, though at 
heart one of the kindest of men, seemed to enjoy the 
acuteness with which his offspring tracked her down. 

Now Sallie was not exactly the right sort of per¬ 
son to heckle, and when Tally, looking at her with 
insolence from under his heavy lids, asked her if in 
California they taught the difference between Sadism 


February 


117 

and Masochism, she said that she had not been en¬ 
rolled as a student of medicine, but that she could 
give a fair account of California football scores, if 
he was interested. 

“Excuse me,” said Tally, “I can’t say that I think 
it advisable for big brutes to cultivate the fine art of 
slugging. And girls that go to football games all the 
time must develop a passion for brutality. It’s 
logic.” 

Sally glared at Tally. 

“It may be logic, but it is certainly not manners 
for you to say so.” 

“Oh, la, la! Always manners. I’ve read Emer¬ 
son. For that matter I’ve read most authors. Emer¬ 
son had the right dope on manners, but he hadn’t 
the nerve to do as he preached. Bruisers and 
pirates, he said, are better than talkers and clerks. 
He says that Julius Caesar set the manners of his 
time, because he had brains and nerve. Yet we all 
know that Julius Caesar was the man of every 
woman in Rome and the woman of every man.” 

Sallie listened with amazement to these remarks, 
which any lawyer would have found it hard work 
to disprove, though they obviously misrepresented 
both Emerson and Caesar. She turned away from 
Tally and ignored him for the rest of the meal. 

But Tally did not enjoy being ignored. 

“My dad,” he continued, “is a case in point, even 
if he is a big toad in a rather small puddle. Sam 


118 Sallie’s Newspaper 

Glendower could do anything in Seganku and get 
away with it. He sets the pace.” 

Miss Craigie, the severe Scotch governess who 
had taught him his Latin and history and mathe¬ 
matics at an earlier stage of his existence, and who 
now taught his small sister, took it upon herself to 
remonstrate. 

“Mr. Taliesin, I never presumed to teach you any¬ 
thing out of the bible, for I knew that your parents 
wanted you to form your own opinions. But there 
is a commandment that you ought to study. It sug¬ 
gests something about honoring your father and 
mother, but it does not suggest bragging about their 
social status.” 

Tally looked at her with a certain tolerant sweet¬ 
ness of expression, as if he were addressing an over¬ 
grown child. 

“That’s all right, Miss Craigie, but I didn’t get 
the point at the time. I thought you were trying to 
keep the facts away from me. You needn’t worry, 
Miss Craigie. I’ve read the bible. In fact I’ve read 
most authors. I know why Lot’s daughters made 
their dad hit the booze.” 

At this incredible remark, made at a supper table 
in the presence of ladies, Sallie rose and left the room 
without a word. But Tally, who was about to start 
for Chicago, followed her and held out his hand. 
He was evidently unaware that he had offended. 

“Good by, Sallie. Next summer I’ll beat you at 


February 


1 *9 

tennis. I don’t play much, but I can beat you if I 
try. I beat most of them, first and last, and I gen¬ 
erally get what I want.” 

VIII 

On Monday afternoon Sallie received a note from 
the Flower Loan and Trust Company, signed by 
Henry Durand. It said that Miss Flower’s holdings 
in farm mortgages amounted to the sum of $345,- 
600, distributed on forty-eight farms, all in the state 
of Wisconsin. The Company took pleasure in en¬ 
closing a list of the farms, with the owners’ names 
and addresses, but regretted its inability to inform 
Miss Flower as to the net earnings of the farms over 
the period of ten years mentioned in her communica¬ 
tion. 

Evidently Uncle Henry was standing on his dig¬ 
nity, and had little notion of the financial condition 
of the husbandmen whom he so cheerfully encum¬ 
bered. Had she asked him a similar question con¬ 
cerning her mortgagees in the city, he could have 
answered much more accurately. 

Sallie at once called up the office and asked Drom 
to come and see her. He obeyed promptly. 

She showed him Uncle Henry’s note, and asked 
his opinion. He said that he had been thinking 
about it, but that any estimate would have to be 
guesswork. In any case the prices received by farm¬ 
ers were not set by middlemen but by the wholesale 


120 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


prices of the world. She said that she was not con¬ 
cerned with that question, but with the actual net 
earnings of the farms, making due allowance for the 
food found by the families on the farms, and any 
wages that were paid to the families. She held him 
to this point, and he said that in his opinion a thou¬ 
sand dollars would be about right. 

But instantly she exclaimed, “It isn’t enough!” 

“How much do you think it ought to be?” 

“Twice as much. Why, there are groceries, and 
clothes, and church, and books, and papers, and the 
doctor, and the dentist, and sending the children to 
college, and laying up something for a rainy day, 
and paying off the mortgage—oh, dear, there’s no 
end to it. They can’t possibly live on a thousand.” 

“They do it, and keep a car besides.” 

“Dirck Kloot didn’t.” 

“Kloot was an exception. I admit that I am 
partly responsible for Kloot. But if you are willing 
to sacrifice two percent, I can get you some elegant 
bonds that will yield four and a half.” 

“What sort?” 

“Farm loan bonds offered by the federal land 
banks.” 

“Can I get them directly?” 

“No, but I can get them for you.” 

“Drom dear, it doesn’t seem to me fair that those 
bonds should have to go through a banker’s hands 
first, but I’ll think about them, and let you know.” 


February 


121 


When he had gone, Sallie retired up to her gazebo 
and studied the lake. The day was cold and fair, 
and the setting sun made the eastward expanse seem 
exceedingly rich. 

When she at last descended, to find Dr. Napper 
there for supper, she burst out. 

“Aunt Jo—I’m sure you don’t mind, Dr. Napper, 
if I talk business to Aunt Jo—how should you like 
to spend a few days touring Wisconsin in the new 
car?” 

“I should like it very much, if the weather per¬ 
mits.” 

“Then we’ll do it. I want to see every one of my 
farms.” 

And off she went, to call Larsen at the garage. 

When she came back, Dr. Napper solemnly asked 
her if she knew what a drumlin was. 

“No, sir, unless it’s a little drum.” 

“Well, do you know the nature of a kame?” 
“No.” 

“Or an esker?” 

“No.” 

“And yet you are about to go among these wild 
creatures unacquainted with their name or nature. 
Josephine, do you know them?” 

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I do. They are all 
forms of sand and gravel. A drumlin is a hill of it. 
An esker is the stuff that got into a channel under the 
ice and choked it. A kame is what was left at the 
mouth of such a channel.” 


122 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Very good. And do you know about hogs?” 

“Wookey, do you rule out figurative expressions?” 

“Certainly. When I say hog I do not mean 
Gadarene devils, road hogs, or profiteers. I refer 
to the omnivorous mammal. I mean the Duroc, 
the—” 

“Wait, dearest. I know a Duroc from a Durand, 
but beyond that nothing. Why do you ask?” 

“Because on every farm you will find more hogs 
than folks, and it is desirable that you should be able 
to speak of them intelligently. The way to the 
farmer’s heart is through his hog. So I shall take 
the liberty of sending you a book on hogs, and an¬ 
other on the geology of Wisconsin.” 

“Thank you, dearest. But speaking for myself 
alone, you may omit the hog book.” 

Wookey turned to Sallie. 

“And what do you say, my child?” 

“I say,” cried Sallie, with the triumphant manner 
that often accompanies the consciousness of perspi¬ 
cacity, “that you two folks are engaged!” 

“Correct, Sallie. You are slow but sure. You 
may kiss your aunt, and after that, if you insist on 
it, you may kiss me.” 

She kissed them both, but then remarked. 

“This is terrible.” 

Silence. 

“It is beautiful, but terrible. I am truly happy for 
you, but I simply can’t face the future.” 


February 


123 


Wookey assumed his severest expression, the one 
with which he tried to frighten freshmen. 

“Young woman, I don’t know what else you could 
expect. As the day of your marriage approaches 
nearer and nearer, like a glacier six miles long going 
three feet an hour, it is clear that your poor aunt will 
be left high and dry, like a drumlin, a kame, or an 
esker. You cast her off. Well, if you don’t want 
her, I want her. I have been in this impoverished 
state of mind ever since y were twelve years old. 
I feel aggrieved. I have waited long enough.” 

“How soon,” faltered poor Sallie, “is it to be?” 

“That,” said her aunt, “depends entirely on you. 
We don’t wish to hurry you, but if you are going to 
marry Dromillard Schmit or anybody else, we can¬ 
not find it in our hearts to delay you. Dearly as I 
love you, I can’t have you living with us in our cot¬ 
tage on the river bank. There are too many dogs 
that need the room.” 

“Aunt Jo, that was the crudest thing ever said to 
me. That was not etiquette—you know it wasn’t.” 

“I know it wasn’t, but then, they aren’t my dogs. 
I love them only because they are Wookey’s.” 

“I have hyenas too,” said the merciless Wookey, 
and rose to follow his hostesses out to supper. 

Late that evening the two women were still up, 
studying the road map. 

They decided to go first to the southwest, down 
into Fond du Lac county, where there were six of 


124 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Sallie’s debtors, all in a row. One of them was Lor- 
ena Smith-Blewitt, the poet who sometimes con¬ 
tributed to the Sun, and Sallie was curious to see 
what sort of person she was. 

IX 

Tuesday dawned fair and warm. By eight o’clock 
a messenger had arrived, bringing the book on geol¬ 
ogy and also the book on hogs. But they did not 
take the latter. It seemed too much like a trip to 
Chicago. 

Aunt Jo was for including a great hamper of food 
and first aid, as if she were setting out for the arctics. 
She apparently had vague intentions of building 
igloos in Fond du Lac county, where the farms drop 
fatness and where the telephone resembles a hairnet 
of copper. Sallie however proved to her that no 
matter where they went, they would always be within 
half an hour’s ride of a hotel. 

They set out, and by noon reached the undulating 
hollow, several miles long, where lay the six farms. 
It was not exactly a valley, but it sloped upward like 
an irregular trough along a ridge of Niagara lime¬ 
stone. At the southern end was a quarry. Northeast 
the successive farms lay on eskers and drumlins, with 
pools among them, and orchards, and wood-lots of 
red oak and hard maple. 

They stopped to inquire the way to the Blewitts’. 
A woman who had once been pretty, and whose 


February 


125 


daughter was still pretty but grim, pointed out the 
direction, which was upward toward the hill crest. 
Sallie and Josephine turned to go, but the daughter 
came forward from her work by the stove and in¬ 
vited them back. Dinner was about ready, and they 
were welcome to stay. 

“Especially your chauffeur.” 

If these three words were meant as a taunt, Sallie 
Flower was the wrong person to try them on. She 
at once accepted the invitation and called Larsen in. 
She might have sent him in the first place to do the 
inquiring, but Sallie was not the grand dame except 
on provocation. She was provoked now, and did not 
introduce either Larsen or herself. 

“The livin’ room ain’t heated this winter—you 
can see for yourselves.” 

The younger woman threw open the door of a 
large room, well enough furnished except for the 
total lack of books, and a blast of cold air rushed 
into the kitchen. 

But she took the ladies’ wraps and laid them on 
the sewing machine, after clearing it of old copies 
of the Seganku Sun. This much rather coldly ac¬ 
complished, she took Larsen’s coat, hung it on a rack, 
and smiled at him. 

Jo was admiring a fuchsia which occupied most of 
the southeast window. Her enthusiasm thawed the 
elder woman a little. 

Presently two men came in, and all except the 


126 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


daughter sat down to salt pork, potatoes and gravy, 
corn bread, and the weakest of black coffee. For this 
there was neither sugar nor cream, though the 
kitchen had a separator. The cream was elsewhere, 
in the cold living room. The meal was a silent one, 
but the daughter waited on table with correctness 
and ease. 

At last the men fell to talking about the roads, and 
the farmer said that his name was Stahl. The chauf¬ 
feur responded to this courtesy by giving his own 
name. Then Stahl asked Larsen if after dinner he 
would take a look at the flivver. Now a flivver 
is a small car driven by the ghosts of oysters long 
since dead. Men bore holes in the graveyard till 
it spouts up, and flivvers are harnessed to the ghosts. 
Stahl said that the flivver was bought in the year 
1918. He said that all the flivvers were bought in 
that year. 

“That year,” suddenly remarked the waitress, “we 
made $1282 clean profit. That was the year my 
husband died. He died of the flu in Archangel. He 
died in a hospital five feet wide, made of two piles 
of lumber. But that year we made $1,282 clean 
profit.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Sallie gently. 

“Sorry we made a profit?” 

“No.” 

The woman’s face relaxed a little. She went to 
a cupboard and returned with a paper, which she 


February 127 

laid beside Sallie’s plate. Sallie looked it over care¬ 
fully. 

“You have a mortgage.” 

The woman smiled bitterly. “How do you 
know?” 

Sallie pointed to the figures. “Net earning in 
1913, sixty-two dollars. Net loss, 1914, a hundred 
and forty. You simply had to get a mortgage, and 
here is the interest item.” 

“We got it all right. A man named Schmit come 
out here in 1914. He was a good talker.” 

“He talked too much,” said her father. “You tell 
the lady.” 

“Why, I was waiting on table in Fond du Lac that 
year. And in come this husky lad and sat down at 
my table and tried to get fresh with me. He didn’t 
get nowhere, because I was engaged at the time, but 
he certainly was a good looker. And there was 
another feller at the table, and they got acquainted 
like, and I heard Schmit tell the other that there 
ain’t no security like a farm mortgage, only when 
they don’t come across you want to close ’em up so 
damn quick they don’t know what hit ’em. And 
when I come home for Thanksgivin’, here we was 
with a goose on the table and four thousand dollars 
of that feller’s money, only it ain’t his, it’s Flower 
money, old Hodge’s, who was the worst thief in Wis¬ 
consin, Sawyer not excepted. We been livin’ on that 
four thousand ever since. You see how it runs—net 


128 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


loss in 1915, about six hundred gain the next year, 
then the big jump that fooled us all, and then we fall 
back and pay interest and eat some more of that four 
thousand. Damn them Schmits and them Flowers!” 

“My name is Flower.” 

“Oh, I—well, what do you know about that!” 

“I know a good deal about it, Mrs—?” 

“My name is Hiller.” 

“Mrs. Hiller, you are a pretty good cost account¬ 
ant.” 

“No, I ain’t, Miss Flower. Of course I got to 
ask you to excuse me f’r damning you. I didn’t 
know as you was like this, askin’ me decent ques¬ 
tions. Two years ago a friend of ourn come out 
here and asked us a lot more. He done most of 
the figgerin’ himself. His name is Mr. Jim Fletcher, 
and he’s all right.” 

“We know Mr. Fletcher,” said Aunt Jo, “and we 
agree with you that he’s all right.” 

“So is Mr. Schmit,” put in Sallie. “What he said 
was said a long time ago. He feels very differently 
now, and he thinks you are averaging about a thou¬ 
sand, net earnings.” 

“Then he’s a fool. We ain’t averagin’ much * 
more’n half that. Why don’t he come out here and 
eat dinner with us, like you done? There ain’t no 
dessert. I tell you he liked dessert pretty good. He 
spread two portions of ice cream over two pieces of 
pie, and ate the whole mess.” 


February 


129 


She spoke with the ferocity of a female bee killing 
a drone. Later, however, she dropped her work and 
went with them to four other farms, and sat silent 
while Sallie collected four other papers made out by 
Jim Fletcher. In these he seemed to have abandoned 
the term “net earnings,” and was using “labor in¬ 
come,” which meant the same thing but put the 
emphasis in a different place. He meant the profit 
left for the farmer’s labor and executive ability, after 
deducting from cash receipts and added equipment 
the total expenses of the farm. He was allowing 
fair rates for the labor of minors in the family, and 
five percent on the value of the farm. 

The widower Jul Sorg, whose house of visible 
frame and plaster looked like medieval Germany, 
tapped his biceps and said that he carried his six 
thousand easy. Some folks, he said, was afraid to 
use their arms, and some didn’t have no head to use. 
His labor income for the ten years was $608. He 
had usually come out even with his bills. Being 
asked, however, whether he would prefer his present 
status to the job of managing his farm at a thou¬ 
sand a year, he laughed and said that his independ¬ 
ence wasn’t worth no four hundred. His daughter 
Gretchen also laughed at the extraordinary idea of 
anybody’s being hired as a manager. 

The youngest of the four mortgagees was a lad 
named Morgan Roberts, who unblushingly declared 
that he wanted to get married, and guessed he’d have 


130 


Sallied Newspaper 


to whether or no. He was paying interest on $20,- 
000. Six thousand of this was Sallie’s, and the rest 
had been lent him by relatives. Sallie was astonished 
to find twenty thousand saddled on a single quarter 
section, but she honored those relatives. 

Mrs. Hiller was returned to her house, where she 
immediately telephoned Lorena Blewitt that she’d 
better get ready for company right away, f’r the girl 
was coming that owned her. 

Consequently when the great car came bowling up 
the hill, Lorena was making dropcakes and opening 
a can of peaches. There was certainly no other can 
of peaches within ten miles, but Lorena was no nig¬ 
gard. Her brother Frank was in the yard, stationed 
there to head the visitors off and engage them in con¬ 
versation as long as possible. 

Nothing but loyalty to Lorena could have held him 
there. He was the shyest man in a county. Only 
in dreams was Frank Blewitt voluble, whereas his 
sister was always sufficiently dreamy to be voluble. 
He called his dog Schmitty for secret reasons. In 
imagination he liked to order Dromillard Schmit 
around. 

Frank had taken refuge between the two fly¬ 
wheels of a large gasoline engine, and pretended to 
be oiling it. There he stood with downcast eyes, 
moving the snow with the side of his foot, and then 
moving it back again very neatly. He reminded 
Josephine of Whittier’s little embarrassed school- 


February 


131 

girl, and he reminded Sallie of somebody she had 
seen at the photoplay, an actor named Will Rogers. 

Frank faltered that he was glad to meet them— 
and clung to both flywheels to show that he was oc¬ 
cupied beyond the possibility of shaking hands. He 
whispered that Lorena would be awful glad to see 
them. He granted that the day had been fair. He 
confessed that his collie was named Schmitty, but 
grinned at his toes when asked why. Feeling that 
it was rude not to be more confiding, he suddenly 
said that he was fifty years old, but that Schmitty 
was only two. 

These tactics took up much more time than it 
takes to tell it, and so permitted Lorena to get her 
dropcakes out of the oven before she changed her 
dress. 

She opened the door for them, disclosing a coun¬ 
tenance with great brown eyes. She resembled a 
doe, but not the doe of poets. If the reader has 
ever canoed alongside a swimming doe, who flees 
him with frightened eyes, wet hair, and long nose, 
he is acquainted with the impression produced by 
Miss Lorena Smith-Blewitt. 

She had made a roaring fire in the front room, 
not with corn but with her last sticks of maple. What 
did she care! She had plenty of red oak to burn, 
and next week Frank was going to saw some maple 
and haul it to Seganku, forty miles away, and get 
fifteen dollars a cord for it, just as the paper said. 


132 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


She never stopped to think that Walt Dyer’s lum¬ 
ber yard had to make a profit of forty percent. 

And when she had cozily settled her welcome 
guests around the airtight stove, she talked. She 
talked of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, with whom she 
had once ridden in a sleigh, and whose memory she 
adored. She made elliptical references to the pres¬ 
ent leaders of the suffrage movement, as if it were 
still the chief of issues and her guests had been think¬ 
ing of little else. She was for suffrage first, and 
last, and all the time, and that was why she kept 
her dead mother’s name alive in her own. But first, 
and last, and all the time Sallie knew that Lorena 
Smith-Blewitt was afraid to death of voting-booths. 

Then she wanted to know all about the Sun. She 
had been made so happy by Miss Flower’s gen¬ 
erosity to the paper. That was showing faith, and 
if we didn’t have faith, life was not worth living. 
She thought the Etiquette articles as good as Emer¬ 
son, and was awed to learn that she had the au¬ 
thor sitting right there in the wooden rocker. She 
wanted to know whose idea it was to change the 
form to that of a bibelot. She not only called it 
such, but she left off the final stop, so that the word 
deliciously exhaled its soul away. Apparently she 
would never have remembered supper had not Frank 
finally come to the door and tried to remove a rose 
from the old brussels carpet with the side of his 
shoe. 


February 


133 


But the supper was good. Lorena knew how to 
cook. When she thought butter would improve any¬ 
thing, she used butter. She had fed her father with 
flaky pie till he died of something else, and now she 
fed Frank with it. It was true that Frank never 
got quite far enough ahead to get married, but some 
day times would be easier, and there was a woman 
ready and waiting to marry Frank as soon as he 
plucked up his courage to ask her. Then Lorena 
would cheerfully surrender her pie-making to 
Gretchen Sorg, and go and live—she didn’t know 
where. 

During supper they discussed everything except 
money and poetry. Larsen had taken a critical look 
at the engine, the tractor, and the Ford, all of which 
were in bad shape because exposed too much to 
the weather, and suggested some things that ought 
to be done. 

After supper the dishes were stacked, to be 
washed at the poet’s leisure, and the visitors were 
invited to stay all night. This honor they declined. 
They had telephoned to Fond du Lac for rooms, and 
must be moving on. If Miss Blewitt would be kind 
enough to read them some of her poetry before they 
went— 

But Lorena shied. Out of pure delight in them 
she wanted them to remain. So quick is love to 
spring in a noble heart that she already loved them 
both. 


134 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


And when the refusals continued, she timidly in¬ 
quired concerning their plans. She found that they 
intended to make a wide circle around Lake Win¬ 
nebago, and she finally persuaded them to return 
to her and spend a night. Then, if they chose, she 
would read them some poetry, if they would tell her 
exactly what they thought of it. The poor lady 
had never had a word of competent criticism, and 
deep in her heart she longed for just such friendly 
fault-finding as she knew these wonderful new 
friends could give her. Only, she wanted a little 
time to get used to the idea of being criticized. 

She sat down at the melodeon and turned the 
leaves of a hymn book. Frank came and stood be¬ 
side her. Here was something that he was not 
afraid of. 

“We will sing you a song before you go, and if 
you know the chorus, you can join in.” 

And they began to sing, like two thrushes from 
the same nest. It was very sweet. Frank was evi¬ 
dently a born tenor, but he sang tenor, alto, or bass 
as the spirit moved him, and some heavenly spirit 
seemed to move them both. 

The first song was about the sweet fields of Eden.' 
The second concerned a fountain filled with blood. 
The third commanded the hearer to go, bury his 
sorrow. Miss Josephine, all her biology forgotten, 
was presently relieving Frank of the alto. Larsen 


February 135 

stole in from the kitchen, and to Sallie’s wonder¬ 
ment relieved him of the bass. 

Sallie sat enthralled. She perceived that Frank 
could as easily have sung Schubert, and that Lorena 
would have been playing Brahms had she ever been 
given half a chance. Moreover, though Sallie’s 
own repertory of folk-song was limited to “Green- 
sleeves” and “The Raggle-Taggle Gypsies, O,” she 
felt that she was hearing the genuine thing. It was 
the quintessence of a native hymnology. 

Under the spell of it Sara Flower left her new 
friend without a word of inquiry concerning mort¬ 
gages. Somewhere in that shabby brick house was 
another of Jim Fletcher’s deadly balances, but it 
was not mentioned. What are mortgages to peo¬ 
ple who hold a lien on heaven? 

X 

Sallie slept so well at Fond du Lac that with the 
dawn of the twentieth she found her aunt up be¬ 
fore her, reading geology. And while softly splash¬ 
ing in her bath, Sallie was read to, and learned much. 
She was just above a most ancient sea bottom, all 
compact of sand washed down from northern rocks. 
It was full of Cambrian invertebrates, all keeping 
perfectly still while she took her bath. 

By the time she was dressed she learned that Lo¬ 
rena, only ten miles away, was over very different 
stuff. While Sallie was wasting a million years in 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


136 

the tub, seaweed and seashells had been growing 
under Lorena’s kitchen. Critters that had picked 
up the art of secreting lime had done well by her. 
There might be several hundred feet of it, all full 
of corals and crinoids. Lorena was wont to sing of 
the lilies of the field, how they grow, but it was time 
she sang of the sea-lilies under the house, how they 
grew. 

All this was fascinating, and when they went down 
to breakfast, they descended the ages an eon at a 
step. At the first landing Jo had become a delight¬ 
ful reptile. At the foot she was a presentable mam¬ 
mal. She was an arboreal primate all across the 
room, and a savage when she sat down. Then the 
glacier covered her. 

She took a sip of Lake Winnebago, explaining 
that it was perfectly fresh ice-water twenty thou¬ 
sand years old, left there by the fifth melting. She 
lectured on glaciers throughout breakfast. Ice! All 
of Sallie’s farms had been laid down by it. They 
were just sand and gravel, dropped there like a 
sugar coating on the limestone. They strove to 
realize it as they struggled with a beefsteak that 
might have roamed the eskers a heifer of the ice 
age. 

After breakfast they set out westward. They 
spent the morning in Green Lake county, inquiring 
from Germans the way to mortgagees who were 
also Germans. Almost all the place names were In- 


February 


137 


dian or English, but the dwellers were Germans. 
There was one town named Berlin, and Sallie ar¬ 
rived pronouncing it Bayrleen, but she soon learned 
that it should be called Burrlin, and that it was 
named in the forties by a Rhode Islander who knew 
no word of German. 

There are few better farms than those of central 
Wisconsin, but everywhere the story was the same. 
Patiently the Germans were holding out. Their 
grandfathers had been used to bureaucrats, and they 
were getting used to bureaucrats. They thought 
that somewhere there was a benevolent but inscruta¬ 
ble power that would eventually give them better 
prices. 

These people knew not Jim, but with much wet¬ 
ting of lead-pencils they managed to reckon up the 
statistics that Sallie desired. All, however, knew 
Mr. Schmit. He was a German like themselves. 
He had drunk their honey-beer and praised their 
thrift. Mr. Schmit was a fine fellow. One old 
Brandenburger was sure that Mr. Schmit would 
soon be Governor, and then—folks would see! 
When Mr. Schmit went up, prices would go up. It 
gave Sallie a thrill to think that she might possibly 
become the wife of a governor, but she could not 
imagine that Drom would be of much use to these 
people. 

She puzzled and puzzled as she received one 
sombre account after another. She began to feel 


138 Sallie’s "Newspaper 

like canceling all her mortgages. Nobody did any¬ 
thing like that. It would stamp her as a sentimen¬ 
talist forever. Aunt Hattie would want her sent to 
a sanitarium, and Drom would ask to be released 
from his bargain. 

That night, so swift was the great motor, they 
stayed at Appleton. The evening view from the 
cliff, above the swiftly falling Fox, was enchanting. 
The sky was full of clouds and witchcraft. But 
they passed a group of college girls coming merrily 
home with skates on their shoulders, and poor Sal- 
lie hoped to goodness that none of them had three 
millions to dispose of. 

Washington’s birthday dawned warm. Through 
the open window came an occasional whiff of sick¬ 
ening sweetness from the sulphite pulp of paper 
mills. She knew how it was made—by mixing sul¬ 
phur dioxide gas with limestone, and letting water 
trickle over the mess. Since the limestone is a 
graveyard of sea animals, the effort to convert it 
into perfumery is not successful. This morning the 
smell doubtless came from future numbers of her 
newspaper. She was ashamed to make people smell 
her newspaper a month ahead. Jim had told her 
that to make one issue of a certain Sunday paper in 
Chicago, nine acres of spruce had to be slain. It 
wasn’t worth it. 

They got away from that smell as soon as pos¬ 
sible. They ran down along the cliff of Niagara 


February 


139 


limestone overlaid with Cincinnati shale, and kept 
the shallow lake in sight as long as possible. It 
was pleasant to throw aside their furs and breathe 
an air that seemed like April. At last they turned 
aside into Calumet county and searched out the re¬ 
maining farms. Here they discovered that Jim had 
again been before them. 

The Calumet farms were therefore easily 
reckoned up, and they drove on to Fond du Lac for 
lunch. The afternoon was drowsy, and the two 
women took a room and made themselves comfort¬ 
able. Sallie read a newspaper and learned that, ac¬ 
cording to the League of Nations, two thousand 
tons of opium in excess of the amount justified by 
medical use are sold annually. Surely that was 
criminal, and yet nobody seemed stirred up about 
it. The whole world was morally doped. She felt 
doped herself, and went to sleep. 

When she awoke to her troubles, her aunt was 
still asleep. So Sallie took pencil and paper and 
reckoned up the status of her debtors. Since the 
Blewitts would bring the average down, no matter 
what it was, and since she had never seen their 
document, she was content to leave them out. 

Her pencil flew up and down the columns again 
and again, to be sure she had made no mistake. At 
last it hovered and stood still. The average an¬ 
nual labor income of her farmers for the last ten 
years was $516.62. 


140 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


And Drom had guessed a thousand. Drom, who 
drank honey beer with farmers, had guessed a thou¬ 
sand. Drom, who would some day be Governor, 
had guessed a thousand. 

XI 

At six o’clock they arrived at Lorena Smith-Ble- 
witt’s to spend the night, as promised. 

Again Frank and his dog were in the yard. Again 
Frank stood between the flywheels of the big gas 
engine. In fact, as the guests appeared, he started 
the engine. There was plenty of room between the 
whirling wheels, and he was safe from having to 
shake hands. 

It was his painful duty to confess that Lorena had 
gone to Fond du Lac in the Ford, and had just tele¬ 
phoned him that she was stuck. She was sitting 
in the garage of the hotel, waiting for the car to be 
mended. She hoped that they would eat supper 
without her. 

Frank did not like the job of confessing all this, 
especially as Lorena had had to negotiate a little 
loan before she could go for provisions, and this was 
why he had started the engine. Nothing like a lit¬ 
tle noise to cover confusion. Of course he had to 
keep his hands in his pockets, but he could still push 
the snow here and there with his foot. 

He shifted from one foot to the other. The ac¬ 
tion was unwary. His right foot slipped, and the 


February 


141 

left caught between the flying spokes. Instantly the 
whole left leg was drawn between wheel and engine 
with such force that the machinery came to a stand¬ 
still. 

Larsen leaped from his seat and threw the switch. 
Then he grasped Frank under the armpits and 
tried to pull him out. No use. He had to get a 
strong stick and pry the spokes till he could turn 
them backward. Frank dropped to the ground, 
where Schmitty at once laid protecting paws upon 
him. 

“It don’t hurt,” said Frank bravely. 

“Not now,” replied Larsen, twisting his scarf 
around the leg far above the knee, and fastening it 
with a stick. 

By this time the women were standing over them, 
appalled but self-controlled. To quiet their fears, 
Frank began to sing. He sang the first thing that 
came into his head. The chill sweat stood out on 
his whitening forehead, but his tenor never faltered: 

Go, bury thy sorrow, 

The world hath its share. 

Go, bury it deeply, 

Go, hide it with care. 

Go, think of it calmly— 

Here Larsen lifted him and started toward the 
car. Sallie ran ahead, threw open the door of the 
tonneau, and spread a lap-robe on the broad seat. 
Larsen pressed the mangled leg close to his own body, 


142 


Sailie’s Nezvspaper 


covering himself with blood, as he lifted the form 
in. Aunt Jo waited till Larsen stepped down. Then 
she stepped in, knelt, settled herself to hold Frank 
in place, and took his hand. She told him he was 
a hero, and that Larsen would have him in the hos¬ 
pital in no time. 

But Frank hardly heard her. His song had ceased. 
Fie seemed to himself to be slipping out to sea. 
Well, he had always wanted to go to sea, and he 
might as well sing on the way. With the roaring 
of the breakers in his ears he resumed, as well as 
he could, inside him. He got through with “when 
curtained by night,” and there he lost track. 

Meantime Larsen had taken his employer aside 
and told her what he thought. 

“I’ve seen ’em in the machine shop and I’ve seen 
’em in the Argonne. It’s the shock. For every 
one that ban come through with a stump, there’s 
two that don’t. But you go in the house and you 
telephone that hotel garage to hold Miss Blewitt 
till I come for her.” 

“Yes, Larsen, I will, and you’re perfectly splen¬ 
did. But think how he sang! A man that can sing 
like that isn’t going to die.” 

“Don’t kid yourself, Miss Flower.” 

The car started, and Sallie remained behind. 
Schmitty raced after his master, whining. Larsen 
stopped and took the dog in, thus depriving his mis¬ 
tress of all companionship. 


February 


*43 


She turned from the blood on the snow and went 
into the house. She sat down in the kitchen and 
began to tremble. 

But in the terrible silence the tea kettle began 
to change the pitch of its tune back and forth, as if 
hunting for the key of “Go, bury thy sorrow.” She 
had never heard a kettle do that before. She had 
supposed that kettles merely hummed. With 
trembling hand she opened the stove door and saw 
that the fire was but embers, the sweet song all but 
done. So she stepped into the woodshed and got 
a stick of wood, and her hand was steadier as she 
put it in. Then she found some tea and made her¬ 
self a cup of tea. It was queer and green, but it 
did the trick. Her hand was all right now. 

She called the garage of the hotel at which she 
had stayed. Yes, Miss Blewitt was there, sitting 
on a pile of tires and writing something in a copy¬ 
book such as kids use in school. And her car was 
full of tomatuses and every damn thing out of sea¬ 
son. And mebbe it would take another hour to fix 
the damn flivver and mebbe it wouldn’t, and who 
the hell was this anyhow? On learning that he was 
addressing a lady, the exasperated garage man 
begged her pardon and said he would call Miss 
Blewitt to the ’phone. 

Silence, while the tea kettle tuned up to its nor¬ 
mal pitch, and hogs grunted in the distance. 

“Is that you, Miss Blewitt? This is Sallie Flower. 


144 


Sallie’s Nezvspaper 


Please call me Sallie. I’m here at your house, and 
I’ve had a cup of tea. Pretty soon I’m going to 
have some supper—you have such wonderful things 
cooked up for me.—I’m so sorry you’ve broken down. 
Larsen is coming to get you by and by. So please 
stay right where you are till he comes.—And, Lo- 
rena, for the last few minutes I’ve been thinking 
a good deal about Mr. Fletcher. Once, when I was 
a little girl, he had to bring me some bad news, much 
worse news than any I’ve got for you. He was won¬ 
derful, Lorena, so calm and sweet, and so strong.— 
I’m coming to it. It isn’t anything like as bad as 
it might be. Frank has hurt his foot.—Yes, his 
foot, the left one, and his leg too.—No, in the gas 
engine. It was all my fault for letting him stand 
so near to it. So Larsen and Aunt Jo have taken 
him to the hospital there near you. Perhaps you 
and Aunt Jo had better stay at the hotel all night, 
and I’ll stay here.—Yes, pretty badly, but he went 
away singing. He was telling us to bury our sor¬ 
row. Lorena, dear, when he comes out of the ether, 
I want you to tell him that I’m going to bury his 
mortgage so deep that he’ll never find it. Now 
don’t you worry about him. He’s in good hands, 
and he’s as cool as a cucumber. Here’s a kiss for 
you. Good-by.” 

This was as gently as Sallie knew how to put it, 
and she could tell by Lorena’s voice that she was 
standing the shock bravely. But the other shock— 


February 


145 


Larsen was doubtless right. It would kill Frank 
Blewitt, artist and gentleman and shiftless farmer. 

Sallie did honestly try to eat some supper. She 
cut a wing off the cold roast chicken, and a slice out 
of the mountainous layer-cake, and she nibbled on 
both. But having spoiled the looks of them with¬ 
out choking them down, she lighted a lantern, went 
out into the soft night, and found the pigs. They 
were in the basement of the barn, on a cement floor, 
and they squealed with delight at her coming. She 
fed one on chicken wing and one on layer cake, 
while the rest of them set up a babel of jealous pro¬ 
test. 

But what ought they to eat? 

Swill, of course. She searched the basement, dis¬ 
covering six cows and two horses, but no swill. Per¬ 
haps Frank had hidden it so that company should 
not smell it. 

And now she wished she had brought the hog 
book. For that treatise she would willingly ex¬ 
change all the sea-lilies under the barn. 

A large red-headed Duroc stood up and preached 
to her on the importance of feeding the famished. 
He said that Americans had given fifty-eight million 
dollars to Russian pigs and wouldn’t feed their own. 
Then she remembered that there was a silo, prob¬ 
ably full of nice dry clover. Pigs over the fence, 
pigs in clover—Aphrodite Spartali helped her. Pigs 
doubtless just loved clover. So she proceeded, a 


146 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


lady with a lantern, till she found the entrance to 
the silo. A door opened into a square room, and 
at the other side of this there arose a round tower 
of cement. The place was full of a pleasant winy 
odor, as if she were in the cellar of a chateau. 

In a corner lay a pile of little curved doors, each 
fitted with a rod to serve as a step. Two such doors 
were visible on the silo itself, and above them a 
great slit that vanished into the shadows above. 

She climbed up and put a tentative foot through 
the opening. It touched a damp but solid mass, 
and she stepped in. What she saw was not clover 
but chopped corn, the yellow grains mingling with 
the blanched leaves. She picked up an inch of stalk, 
tasted it, and found it rather good. So with her 
hands she scraped a layer of this superior sauer¬ 
kraut into a great pile by the opening, and pushed 
it out. It fell with a splendid splatter all over the 
cement. She descended and gathered it up by hand¬ 
fuls and carried it to the pigs. They ate it with ap¬ 
plause of chops, which is etiquette for pigs. 

Then the cows began to moo. She climbed up 
once more and threw dowm sauerkraut. The cows 
ate what was set before them and asked no ques¬ 
tions for conscience’ sake. 

Evidently they ought to be milked. 

It would be easy to telephone Jul Sorg or Mor¬ 
gan Roberts, but Sallie’s fighting blood was up. 
She had never milked a cow, but thousands and thou- 


February 


147 


sands of women did it, and some time or other they 
must have begun to do it. There were only six 
cows in this barn. She would do it. 

The first one knocked her lantern into a corner, 
where it expired. After that she milked in the 
dark, feeling her way among great warm bodies. 
The cows chewed their sauerkraut and let her ex¬ 
periment. They could not possibly know that those 
slender fingers held a lien on them. 

Again and again the slender fingers gave out. She 
rested them. She rubbed them. She went at it again. 

Sallie was not much of a stripper, but when at 
last she surveyed the work of her grasping reflex, 
a whole chain of white lakes resting here and there 
in the kitchen, she was as proud as a Hindu deity 
after churning the ocean into a cosmos. 

She threw herself on the old sofa in the sitting 
room, with paralyzed fingers and aching bones. 
Then the whinny of horses assailed her ears, and 
she arose, as utterly exhausted persons can always 
do at the call of duty. Would the horses eat sauer¬ 
kraut? Of course not. She cut two immense slices 
of cake, found all the loaf sugar there was, and 
once more stumbled out to the barn. With gentle 
speech she informed the horses that they were nice 
horses, good horses. She felt her way between 
them, slid her hand along glossy necks and cheek¬ 
bones, and let them nuzzle her palm. 

Then she groped for a stairway and found a 


148 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


ladder. She mounted and felt around. A mouse 
crossed her bare hand, and she gave a little scream. 
The horses whinnied to tell her not to be afraid, 
but to keep right on. She found it at last, a bin 
nearly empty, and by standing on her head she filled 
a measure with something. It might have been 
sesame, for all she knew, but the horses liked it. 

Once more in the house, she found that the 
kitchen lamp had burned out. A match failed to 
reveal the kerosene can, but it did reveal the time. 
It was only ten. So she sat up awhile in the perfect 
loneliness and the perfect darkness. She lived 
through a good deal in those two hours. 

It was midnight before the telephone rang and 
she learned from Aunt Jo that the leg was off and 
the patient alive. 

Lorena was behaving bravely, and sent her love, 
and said that the kerosene was in the woodshed. 
Oh, yes, there was something else to tell. The first 
thing Frank had uttered on awakening was the 
words, “Go tell it to Jesus, and all will be right.” 
They were sung. They were uttered with perfect 
musical precision in spite of the phlegm. 

Having praised the Lord for all his chances—the 
doctors said there was a chance—Sallie lighted an¬ 
other match and climbed upstairs. She found the 
spare room, said a prayer, and went to sleep in a 
feather bed. 


February 149 

XII 

It was a deep sleep which fell upon her. She 
hardly stirred till six o’clock, when the feathers be¬ 
gan to feel too warm. The roof slanted cozily, and 
her head was not more than three feet from where 
it joined the wall in a shower of improbable roses. 

She crept out and down stairs, very sleepy but 
determined to know whether Frank Blewitt was 
alive. After a little delay his nurse reported that 
he was resting quietly, and had taken some nour¬ 
ishment. If no untoward symptom appeared, his 
chances now were excellent. His sister, however, 
would not come home till Monday. 

Much rejoiced, Sallie surveyed her milk pans. 
There was a separator in the kitchen, but she did 
not know how to use it. She skimmed off some 
cream, poured it on a slice of bread, sprinkled a 
little salt on, and breakfasted like fairy Mab on 
junkets. But her eyes were not yet ready to open 
for the day. They kept closing like the flowers for 
which—since “Flower” means arrow-maker—she 
was not named. So she went back to bed. 

By and by, ages or minutes later, she dreamed. 
A car was coming up the hill, roaring dreadfully. 
In the chauffeur’s seat sat Drom, while in the ton¬ 
neau sat Jim wearing a silk hat—a likely story. 
She felt very proud of Drom for condescending to 
drive Jim, and waited to see if the banker would 


150 


Sallie's Newspaper 


touch his cap to the mere journalist when that per¬ 
son, now some sort of personage, alighted. But 
Jim did not alight. He said, “Home, Drom,” and 
passed on through a puddle of water, which threw 
a small shower into her face. 

She partly opened her eyes. Apparently the 
dream had changed, for now she lay in a bower of 
roses, looking up into a sky full of lightning-bugs. 
And it was raining. That was the trouble with 
camping out—boom— 

Why- 

Why! It was real rain, blowing in on her face 
with fury. The corner of the roof was gone, stolen 
by thieves. Lightning was flashing, thunder was 
rolling, the silken crazy-quilt was drenched. 

She sprang out of bed. 

Then she hopped up again and thrust her head 
through the roof. The whole west end of the barn 
was gone, shorn off as with a knife. Beyond it 
what had been an orchard concealing the Roberts 
farm was gone too, and she could see the doors of 
the Roberts barn hanging across a fence. 

She had been through a tornado and never knew 
it. The roar of the dream motor must have been 
the roar of a twisting column of air that had passed 
in a second, leaving eccentric devastation. 

She descended from the bed, pulled it away from 
the opening, rubbed her wet hair with a lovingly 
embroidered towel, and hastily dressed. She could 


February 


I5i 

not help noticing that the fierce fantastic wind had 
torn open a cupboard, revealing piles of copybooks. 

As she passed to the head of the stairs she looked 
out of the south window. Down the roads the tele¬ 
phone poles lay flat in a row. Farther down, about 
where Jul Sorg’s medieval architecture ought to be, 
arose a column of ruddy smoke, blurred in the rain. 

She went down the steep steps, touching with care¬ 
ful soles the woven and transmogrified old clothes 
of old Blewitts. 

The telephone, of course, proved to be useless. In 
what was left of the line she could hear the fearful 
wind telling her that nothing is safe. 

She hung up the receiver and gazed out through 
niagaras towards the barn. The animals were 
either quiet in death or outroared by the storm. 
They were probably safe enough, for the cement 
wall of one story still stood. She had a duty to¬ 
ward pigs, but it seemed inadvisable to come sail¬ 
ing among them like a witch on a broomstick. 

She thought of eating some more bread and cream, 
but did not do it. She was too lonesome. 

She went back upstairs and speculated in vain how 
to patch the roof. Finally she pushed the bed into 
place and covered it with such utensils as did not 
contain milk. They would catch at least some of 
the water, and even if the feathers were spoiled, 
these were easier to dry than a ceiling that had to 
be done all over. 


152 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


She judged that the copybooks contained Lorena’s 
poetry. There was a pile all worn, and another pile 
not worn at all. Lorena evidently bought things 
by the wholesale. 

She ventured to open the top book on the worn 
pile, and read amid the dreadful thunderclaps such 
lines as these: 

By, baby, bylo, 

Evening draweth near. 

Sunset on the silo, 

Beautiful and clear. 

By, baby, bylo, 

While your mother sings, 

All the chickens lie low, 

Under mother’s wings. 

By, baby, bylo, 

Piggies sleep so early, 

Little mouths all wet with whey, 

Mingled with the barley. 

Sallie recognized the modern note. It would have 
been so easy for Lorena to keep on rhyming “bylo,” 
for instance with “sigh low” or even “kilo,” but 
she had courageously sacrificed the conventions and 
brought in whey, thus giving that idyllic picture of 
the diminutive Durocs, all in a row, their lips still 
moist with cows’ milk one step removed. And on 
each lip some grains of barley. It was illuminating. 
Sallie determined to profit. 

For two hours the storm continued, while Sallie 


February 


153 


hoped that Jui Sorg’s house was well insured, and 
wondered whether there was such a thing as orchard 
insurance. Probably not. Probably Morgan Rob¬ 
erts would not be able to marry after all. Finally 
the rain stopped. The wind, however, continued to 
howl. 

She inspected Lorena’s pantry shelves and dis¬ 
covered something that she decided to call barley. 
She knew that barley can be put in soups, but she 
had never heard of wheat soup or rye soup, and 
so she reasoned that this must be barley. 

She made a fire in the kitchen to keep warm by. 
She found a firkin half full of salt pork, and rea¬ 
soned that it had to be freshened. So she washed 
it and scrubbed it, and put it in a kettle to parboil. 
She put in about two pounds, in case she should 
have visitors. 

She poured four pans of milk back into two pails, 
stepped into a pair of Frank’s overalls, tied them 
under her axillas, and proceeded, an heiress, to the 
barn. The wind blew her off her feet and spilled 
all the milk, thus helping to reduce the milk prob¬ 
lem a little. She went back for more, and this time 
succeeded by devious tackings in cruising into port. 

Such a welcome! Grunts and squeals, whinnies 
and moos, more warming to the normal human heart 
than the applause of senates. 

Pigs first. She climbed up into what was left of 
the second story, through which an icy wind now 


154 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


whistled. Assisted by the all-revealing publicity of 
sky, she found oats, barley, maize, and another 
grain, which she judged to be rye. She chose bar¬ 
ley, and descended. She sprinkled great handfuls 
of it into the whole milk, and listened to the shame¬ 
less gurgling as it went down. 

The cows received more sauerkraut, dislodged 
this time with a shovel. 

The horses champed their oats mightily, crush¬ 
ing the silica with a noise that made her blood run 
cold. She was later to learn that the racket was 
unnecessary, or would have been if Frank had been 
a better farmer. 

She carried corn to the chickens, who had a house 
to themselves near by. It was a flimsy thing, and 
stood within ten feet of the west end of the barn, 
but it was untouched by the tornado, for the w T ind 
bloweth whither it listeth. She stepped inside and 
gathered three eggs. She noticed a long log lying 
inside, along the wall. It seemed to have saved 
Frank the bother of making roosts. 

She got back to the house without breaking any 
eggs. She was getting used to cyclones. So she 
endeavored to breast her way down the road, with 
the notion of inspecting the damage done to the 
Sorg place. She got a few rods, but had not real¬ 
ized how close to the road certain ponds approached, 
and presently came to a place where two of them, 
swollen by the cloud-burst, had joined across it. So 


February 


155 


she returned to the house, blown along through the 
mud, and changed her shoes for a pair of Lorena’s, 
which fitted about as well as Frank’s overalls did. 
She was not pretty in this rig, but a judicious Ameri¬ 
can observer would have called her cute. 

She reasoned that the pond which had scared her 
could not be more than two feet deep, and she felt 
sure that some neighbor in a car or wagon would 
make his way through it. So she must be prepared 
for guests. If they didn’t come in, she would go 
out into the highway and make them come in. She 
therefore steamed half a peck of potatoes. Aunt 
Jo had long since told her that steaming was the 
most economical way with potatoes. Sallie’s econ¬ 
omy was nevertheless different from the Durand 
type, and more like the Blewitt type. 

But nobody came. Nobody had been listening 
in on the telephone the night before. Nobody knew 
that Frank was hurt, and everybody was trying to 
repair his own damages before the freeze came. 

So at two o’clock she sat down all alone to two 
pounds of salt pork and half a peck of potatoes. If 
only Schmitty had been there! She had half a 
mind to go out and get one of the smaller Durocs. 

XIII 

At that hour Jim was just back from lunch, and 
his Fond du Lac correspondent was calling him in¬ 
sistently on a disordered telephone, to inform him 


i$6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


of the tornado. The correspondent had not been 
able to get to the scene, but had taken his informa¬ 
tion from a milkman. The wind had wrecked things 
in a path a mile long and two hundred yards wide, 
but so far as he could learn, there was no loss o£ 
human life. A man named Sorg was reported to 
have lost his barn and several cows by lightning. 
Jim jotted all this down, never suspecting that it 
affected him personally. 

He perceived through the window that a sleet 
storm had arrived. People were , engaged in slip¬ 
ping down. 

He had no more news till late in the afternoon, 
when Dr. Napper called him on the telephone. Then 
Jim in turn called Drom. 

“Wookey'> has a message from Miss Durand. 
She is in Fond du Lac staying with Lorena Blewitt, 
whose brother has lost a leg by monkeying with a 
gas engine. Sallie is at the Blewitt house, perhaps 
alone, and is in the track of a twister that came along 
this morning early. All wires in that region are 
down, and the roads are next to impassable. Never¬ 
theless Miss Durand wishes me to take a laborer 
to| the Blewitt farm and bring Sallie home. Miss 
Durand will stay with Lorena in Fond du Lac! until 
Frank is out of danger.” 

Drom emitted an ejaculation over the wire, and 
proceeded straight to the core of the business. 

“Sallie may need a doctor. You must get to her 
at once.” 


February 


157 


“Will you come along?” 

“No.” 

“Your car is too heavy. Will you take mine and 
g(\ in my stead?” 

“No.” 

“Drom, you are missing a chance.” 

“Yes, Jim, and I’m sorry to miss it. But this is 
what you call a scoop, and I’m certainly not going 
to intrude.” 

“Well, Drom, I don’t know where to lay my hand 
on a farm laborer at this time of night. I’ll go 
alone. I may be gone for days. I’ll leave Gatty 
Trilling in charge, and tomorrow he’ll be printing 
a summary of the Federal Reserve Report. Will 
you hand him a review of the report from your own 
pen?” 

To this proposition the banker agreed, and half 
an hour( later Jim was backing his small car out of 
the hotel garage. 

It was one o’clock before he drove into the yard 
where stood the gasoline engine, now a mass of 
frozen tears on which his car lamps cast a sudden 
moonlight. He came in on two tires, and two rims, 
his whole machine resembling a frozen clod. 

He turned his lights toward the kitchen door, and 
honked. For a minute there was no response. Then 
the door swung open, and his Beloved stood like a 
stage beauty under the spot-light, blinking her eyes, 
smiling with joy, and wearing a crazy-quilt. 


i 5 8 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Jim emerged from the lump of mud and was 
shaken by both hands. 

“Why, you’re almost frozen!” 

She not only got down on her knees and kindled 
a fire, but she fried pork and potatoes and gave him 
a most midnight and welcome feast. While he was 
eating it they exchanged news as if they had been 
separated for a month. When he had heard all of 
hers, he called her the bravest of women. He 
wished to call her the loveliest and the cleverest also, 
but knew that he must live up to the etiquette de¬ 
partment as far as in him lay. 

“Well, Jim, if you are all warm now, and fed 
up, and comfy, you can smoke while I make Frank’s 
room ready for you.” 

“My dearest Sallie, the eyes of the Etiquette Edi¬ 
tor are in every place, beholding the expedient and 
the inexpedient. I hear your Aunt Jo calling me 
from the barn.” 

“You absurd Jim, that would be just as inex¬ 
pedient, and worse, for my Aunt Jo is engaged to 
Dr. Napper.” 

“You don’t mean it! I thought there was some¬ 
thing more than natural in those neckties. I’m 
tickled to death, but I must not remain to say so. 
Good night! Good night! I thank God that I 
found you alive, Dr. t Livingstone.” 

She tried again to detain him, saying that she 


February 


159 


needed protection. This was so silly, considering 
the state of the roads, that they v parted in hilarity. 

Jim called back to her from the barn, wishing her 
happy dreams of large automobiles, and then bur¬ 
rowed into what hay there was left. There under 
the aurora, so out of place in a barn, he essayed to 
sleep. It was no worse than France. He succeeded 
at last, though tickled ,by fate and timothy grass. 

He was up with the dawn, and went about his 
chores like any old-timer. He found the stock in 
good shape, except for thirst. He discovered a 
rusty, tiny box stove, set it up in his airy bedroom, 
and warmed pail after pail of water for them. 

He studied the damage done to the barn, and 
decided that he would collect enough boards from 
the landscape to make a straight partition across 
the middle, thus reducing the loft to half its former 
size. The little stove would serve well enough to 
take the chill off the enclosed space. 

When called to breakfast he was deferentially 
fed with coffee, pancakes, and infinite cream. All 
was delicious, but he more preferred to gaze over 
his coffee cup at her than to drink the richness of 
the cup. To be alone with her, cozy in a world of 
frozen mud, was good beyond belief. All her other 
suitors were stuck far down the road. 

She had conquered the separator with its ringing 
bell, and her ( kitchen was no longer a peneplain of 
pools. The cream of three milkings, two of them 


160 Sallie’s Newspaper 

her own work, stood in a tall cylinder of block tin, 
waiting for somebody to come and take it away. 

Jim remarked that Frank did better with dairy 
cows than with the rest of the farm. Jim happened 
to know that Frank was 1 paying for his silo by sur¬ 
rendering his cream tickets as fast as he received 
them. And Jim thought that the cream-collector 
might appear before night. 

“But, dearest Sallie, I fear that cream-collector. 
Not for a whole silo of cream would I have him 
discover me at breakfast with you.” 

“You silly Jim!” 

“You lovely Sallie! But there is still more abne¬ 
gation incumbent on your silly Jim. He must have 
his meals sent out to him.” 

“He shall not! Catch me carrying a dinner pail 
out to the barn when you might? just as well be sit¬ 
ting right here.” 

“Madam, I said sent, not brought. Is there any¬ 
thing I can do for you before we part forever?” 

“You might come upstairs and see the hole in the 
roof.” 

Together they mounted the steep stairs over the 
carpet made of Blewitt raiment, and entered the 
spare room. Jim examined the break and reckoned 
he could mend it. 

“I’ll be here tomorrow bright and early.” 

“I shall miss you till then.” 

“Much?” 


February 


161 


“Well, as much as I miss the daily paper.” 

Jim’s roving eye fixed itself on the open cupboard. 
He walked over and picked up several blank copy 
books,, and carried them off. 

All the morning she heard him hammering away, 
except for a little while just before noon. She was 
so busy and so happy that she hardly noticed what 
he was doing in that interval, but when she opened 
the woodshed door to get a few sticks, she saw that 
he had cut a hole in the side of the shed. To a post 
he had fastened an iron pulley. Around the pulley 
was a clothesline, and attached to this was a four- 
quart tin pail with a lid. 

She understood. The dinner she had taken such 
pains with was not appreciated, but had to go as a 
messy lunch. She loaded it into the pail in layers, 
pudding at the bottom, and pulled on the rope till 
the conveyor disappeared through the barn window. 
Then she sat down and cried. 

An hour and a half later, after she had choked 
down her own dinner, she found the pail again in 
the woodshed. Within it were clean dishes and a 
copy book neatly lettered. She read: 

THE SEGANKU DAILY SUN, THE 
WORLDS GRATEFULLEST 
NEWSPAPER 

February 24, 1924. Sunday Edition. 

Aeroplanes. —W T e trust that none will 
arrive. 

Barn.— The word means barley-house. 

It has been shorn of some of its mean¬ 
ing. 


\6i 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Building 1 . —The contract for rebuilding: 
the west end of Prank Blewitt’s barley- 
house has been secured by the enter¬ 
prising 1 young 1 contractor, J. F. Fletcher. 
Work has been begun and will be com¬ 
pleted at five today. Tomorrow this 
deserving- youth will undertake the re¬ 
construction of the Blewitt villa. 

Cows. —The recent service rendered 
them by Miss Sara Durand Flower is 
receiving encomiums from Mesdames 
Ayrshire and Guernsey. When they 
asked her if they might have more 
sugar in their tea, she asked them if 
they had stirred it. The merry jest 
was instantly understood by Madam 
Ayrshire, who is Scotch. 

Fashion Note. —Early this morning 
Miss Sara Durand Flower appeared in 
a wrapper of rainbows. So attired she 
was the prettiest thing the Editor ever 
saw. 

Foreign. —We learn from the United 
States of America that the annual re¬ 
port of the Federal Reserve Board is 
now ready for distribution. Elsewhere, 
about forty miles as the crow flies, but 
about a thousand around the road, we 
give a full summary of the report, and 
also a review of it by Dromillard 
Schmit, the ablest of young discounters. 
Within the past twenty-four hours Mr. 
Schmit has shown the Editor the great¬ 
est mercy, declining to companion him 
on a trip to rescue the fairest of 
women. 

Bocal. —Miss Sara Durand Flower 
cooked an incomparable dinner of Eden 
pork, Fujiyama potato, Guernsey gravy, 
Alabama hot bread, and Tokio pudding, 
and sent it beautifully packed to the 
Editor. 

Xrucullus. —Lucullus, whom simplicity 
could charm, ate roasted turnips at the 
Sabine farm, but never was felicitate 
to eat as now the Editor ate. 

Mangel-wurzels. —Speaking of turnips 
reminds us of mangel-wurzels, and 
speaking of these reminds us that we 
have given the pigs some. Durocs are 
dears, but we cannot afford them any 
more silage. 

Bice.— It was recently demonstrated 


February 


163 


by the expert dietitian, Dr. Sara Flower, 
of the Eden Experiment Station, that 
three grains of rice can be made to 
expand and diffuse their dainty stiffen¬ 
ing through a pint of cream. Farm 
papers please copy. 

Scum.—The scum on that pudding 
was the most ambrosial stuff the Editor 
ever put in his mouth. Come again, 

Sal. 

Straw®.—'Yesterdajr the sweet south 
blew eight straws, head on, into the 
boards of the barley-house. Constant 
Reader is cordially invited to visit and 
inspect the inside of the new west wall, 
where the straws will be found sticking 
like nails. Perhaps she had better time 
her visit so as to coincide with the 
Editor’s absence from the office. 

Weather.—Fair to middling, but God 
knows what it will be tomorrow. 

Cheered by the resumption of her newspaper, 
Sallie labored all the afternoon like any farmer’s 
wife. She stole out from time to time with locks 
blowing free to watch the new wall steadily steal¬ 
ing across to the comfortable sound of hammer and 
saw. She collected four more eggs. She carried 
blankets, quilts, and pillows to the barn, and made 
up Jim’s bed in the most sumptuous manner. 

When the last board was in place and smoke be¬ 
gan to issue from a rusty stovepipe properly guarded, 
they both stood outside and admired the snugness 
of it all. 

“But you are not to eat there this evening. When 
you come with the milk, you are to help me eat hot 
biscuits.” 

So they supped together on hot biscuits and 
creamed potatoes and layer-cake. How different 


164 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


now was Lorena’s layer-cake! Sallie dived into her 
natural inclinations and discovered that nature bade 
her love layer-cake. 

After supper Jim made the separator hum and 
chime while she washed the dishes. Then she sat 
down to some mending which she had invented. 
Very likely she was the only woman on earth that 
evening who had deliberately torn a hole in her 
stocking for the pleasure of mending it while a 
man smoked. 

XIV 

Monday morning dawned warm and cloudy, and 
before seven he was up on the roof. The rafters 
were unharmed, and all he had to do was to saw and 
nail until it came to the question of finishing. He 
had found a piece of heavy paper, but shingles were 
a different matter. Those removed from the barn 
were mossy. Those from the house, though well 
preserved before their flight, had been caught up 
into the air in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, 
and reduced to splinters. But Jim sat on the roof 
and thought about it. His mind was running back¬ 
wards, over the files of the Sun, to various meetings 
of old settlers and their methods of handling the 
wilderness. 

At a quarter to eight he dropped in for breakfast. 
It was absolutely ready, and he wasted no time. He 
did not gobble, but neither did he gabble. Pres- 


February 165 

ently he said, “Mother, may I please be excused 
from the table?” 

Soon she heard the sound of bellows wheezing 
froip a decrepit smithy. Then she heard the ring¬ 
ing of an anvil. At nine thirty she watched him 
hauling a circular saw into place. At a quarter of 
ten he was sawing a log into chunks. It was the 
same log that she had seen inside the henhouse. Did 
the poor fellow think she needed wood? 

He wheeled a barrow of chunks to the woodshed, 
and she opened the door of it to watch. In one hand 
he held a mallet, in the other the handle of, a tool 
newly forged. He began to split off flakes of cedar, 
half an inch thick. He sighted down them, shook 
his head, and dropped them one by one. He sat 
thinking for a minute, and then marked four half¬ 
inch spaces on the end of the chunk, and split off 
the four as one piece. This he subdivided into four, 
and sighted them. They seemed to be satisfactory. 

He rigged a wooden vise on a low bench that was 
designed to support Lorena’s washtubs. He sharp¬ 
ened a drawshave, straddled the bench, fastened a 
flake of cedar in place, and began to make it thinner 
at one end. He worked very cautiously at first, but 
soon acquired speed. One after another the shingles 
fell from his hand, each without ai knot, ready to 
last for twenty years. 

So sitting he reminded her of something—some¬ 
thing she had heard her father tell about. She 


166 Saliie’s Newspaper 

could not recall what it was till she went to look at 
the ham bone in the pantry. There it hung, directly 
over the firkin of salt pork. She had it—pork bar¬ 
rels! She saw the long line of coopers sitting on 
low T benches and making barrel staves for Hodge 
Flower. Never did Hodge Flower make a barrel 
stave, but he had the art of persuading men to 
make them for him and of selling them at many 
times what they cost. 

Jim, who had never before made a shingle, was 
intent on getting out a hundred by half past one. 
He succeeded, made two more for fun, and re¬ 
sponded to the call for dinner. He ate his ham and 
eggs with relish and hoped there was more ham 
left. After dinner he nailed on his shingles, nine 
to the square foot, and so completed his repairs. 

Sallie had now become so accustomed to his re¬ 
sourcefulness that she would not have been sur¬ 
prised to see him appear with lath and mortar, but 
he did not. Editorial duties were engaging him. 
At five o’clock, a little delayed by shingles, the Sun 
was delivered in the woodshed. It shone as fol¬ 
lows : 

THE SEGANKU DAILY SUN 
Monday, February 25, 1924. Shingle 

Edition. 

Art.— By what art did Cook make 
that ham so soft and tender? How did 
she remove all suggestion that the 
slicing was near the knuckle? 

Beds.— The Editor’s bed in the office 
of the Sun is luxurious. He is repos¬ 
ing on it and writing on a shingle that 


February 


167 


smells sweeter than his pencil. And 
speaking of beds, Constant Reader will 
probably be more comfortable tonight if 
she removes her bedding to the wide 
sofa in the drawing room of the Blewitt 
villa. 

Debts,—A week ago today the franc 
was worth 4.08 cents. The Sun believes 
that the United States owes it to the 
world to propose and accomplish an in¬ 
ternational conference on the subject of 
military debts, and to cancel in pro¬ 
portion as it can secure binding prom¬ 
ises to abstain from the folly of war. 
It believes with a former chancellor of 
the British exchequer that if the broken 
countries of Europe are not restored, 
even the states now solvent will slip 
into the general ruin. 

It furthermore believes in canceling- 
one farm mortgage withoiit exacting 
any promise to reform. We learn by 
Associated Guess that Miss S. D. Flower 
beat us to the idea. She is quite right 
about it. Frank is a delightful idiot, 
and should be preserved as a valuable 
specimen. An unencumbered Frank will 
stump around cheerfully, hire his work 
better done than he ever did it, and 
whistle gospel tunes to his cows to 
make them give down. 

Firss. —The Editor Intends to keep a 
little lire in the sanctum tonight, and 
suggests that Constant Reader do the 
same in the grand salon. For her con¬ 
venience he has had the pleasure of 
piling a few small knots into the wood- 
box of said grand salon. There are 
larger ones in the shed, but she is en¬ 
treated not to lift them. Red oak 
-weighs forty-one pounds to the cubic 
foot. 

Oats. —Frank Blewitt’s horses are too 
old to eat oats economically. They 
make much noise but lose much value. 
Frank should have sown barley with 
his oats and ground the mixed grains. 

Bervloe. —Our service departments are 
now in working order. From our new 
quarters we shall delight to give our 
Constant Reader the benefit of expert 
counsel under the following heads: The 
Friend of Sallie; The Legal Friend of 


168 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Sallie; The Investor’s Guide; Advice to 
the Lovelorn; Automobile Routes; Farm 
and Garden. Three departments have 
been discontinued as impertinent. These 
are Beauty Hints, Embroidery, and the 
Sun Cookbook. 

Silos.—Last summer Frank Blewitt 
laid down about half as much silage 
as he ought to have laid down, but silos 
are a blessing just the same. Wiscon¬ 
sin has about ninety thousand. They 
are the true banks of the state, and 
much more important than the institu¬ 
tions commonly called banks. Silage is 
worth five dollars a ton. A silo twenty- 
four feet high and ten feet in diameter 
will hold thirty-four tons, and feed 
nine cattle for six months, forty pounds 
each daily. Judging by the looks of 
Frank’s silo, his cattle received on 
Birthington’s Washday about six pounds 
apiece. That was not much, but they 
should all get down on their crooked 
knees and thank God that they got it. 

It was fed to them by the most beau¬ 
tiful of living hands. 

Society STote. —■ Miss Sara Durand 
Flower is entertaining herself as the 
guest of the well known poetess, Lorena 
Smith-Blewitt. There is a sort of halo 
all round the house. 

Weather*—It will rain by six and 
later freeze. We are dogmatic on this. 

We have been informed by the Rev¬ 
erend Father Innisfail that a leader 
must be dogmatic, and we are begin¬ 
ning on the weather, which does not 
give a whoop how dogmatic we are. 

The dogmatism was justified. The only thing 
he forgot to include was the wind. Sallie had to 
send him his supper by trolley and watch the wind 
swing the pail out like a sail and hold it at an angle 
as it disappeared into the murky waters. She had 
included a little note of inquiry signed Constant 
Reader, and was glad when at last she felt the 
lightening of the cord. 


February 


169 


It rained hard all the evening. Then it sleeted 
hard all the night and broke several panes of glass 
upstairs, while Sallie slumbered peacefully by the 
warmth of smouldering red oak. In the morning 
she perceived that the little old house was shaking 
with ague, while sheets of mingled snow and rain 
swept round it, and the wind howled along kame 
and esker. 

She ran upstairs to see if the new roof leaked. 
Certainly not. She ran back down and began glee¬ 
fully to cook. Soon she was sending him hot muf¬ 
fins and an omelette. He reciprocated by sending 
back clean dishes and a small hatchet whittled out 
of cedar, on which he had printed: “I cannot tell a 
lie. I love you.” She felt very wicked to be read¬ 
ing that and holding the little toy to her cheek. It 
was as smooth—the cedar was—as one of the dainty 
trinkets that seamen used to make for jackstraws. 

The morning wore on, but the sleet and snow con¬ 
tinued. Noon came, and dinner went forward 
through the elements. It was the desired ham and 
eggs, with corn patties, hot bread, and cream pie. 

How quickly then she ate her own dinner and 
washed the dishes. How eagerly she watched for 
the mail, because now she was sure of somebody to 
share her responsibility. The counsel would prob¬ 
ably come under the heading “Investor’s Guide.” 

At last Lorena’s kitchen clock, drawing on all its 


170 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


resources with preparatory impressiveness, struck 
three. She heard the clink of the ice on the pulley. 

She went and seized the pail and wiped off the 
slush. Within were clean dishes, eight straws woven 
into a truelove knot, and the long-awaited copy book. 
She carried it into the warm kitchen and seated her¬ 
self by the streaming window, determined not to 
skip *. 

THE SEGANKU DAILY SUN 

Tuesday, February 26, 1924. Financial 
Edition. 

Bed.—Bully. 

Calf. —Came. 

Domestic. —We take pleasure in an¬ 
nouncing- that Mrs. Blewitt Ayrshire 
was this morning delivered of a fine 
calf. Mrs. Ayrshire asks no favors in 
the matter of feeding him, but she re¬ 
spectfully inquires if Miss Flower can 
think of any better name for him than 
Robert Burns Ayrshire. If so, and if 
she will kindly send it by the next pail. 

Miss Flower will deserve the lasting 
gratitude of the proud mother. 

Baster. —Coming. 

Bletcher. —Coming on. 

Heredity. —The calf is an Ayrshire. 

It may therefore be predicted that he 
will prove hardy. If he were turned 
out into this awful storm, he would 
last much longer than a Guernsey. 

Auld Ayr has produced many hardy hu¬ 
man beings, such as the Editor's great¬ 
grandmother, Janet Craigie Fletcher, 
who on a March day in her ninetieth 
year walked from Newbury to New- 
buryport, and there got the better of 
a man named Burdick in a bargain over 
wool. To say that she skinned him 
would be an exaggeration, but this busi¬ 
ness ability is a terrible thing to have 
in one’s line of heredity. You never 
can tell where it will break out. 

Talents change with generations. The 
son of a journalist might become a 


February 


171 


banker. The son of a banker might 
become a mere journalist. It is quite 
conceivable, for the banks are begin¬ 
ning to advertise. Sixty years ago it 
was considered scandalous for a bank 
to invite depositors. Sixty years from 
now, unless some act of heaven pre¬ 
vents, a Hodge Flower Schmit will be 
editing the Seganku Sun with the sole 
purpose of diverting bank accounts to 
the Schmit Loan and Trust Company. 

Investor’s Guide. — Constant Reader, 
we had the honor to receive your in¬ 
quiry by special pail, and are deeply 
touched that you should desire the opin¬ 
ion of the Sun in the matter of your 
mortgages. In Washington’s day phi¬ 
lanthropy was a simple matter. One 
cared for one’s slaves when they were 
ill, and sold them for rum when they 
were well. Washington did that. But 
now we are all slaves. Machinery en¬ 
riches but enslaves us. Slaves enriched 
have given many millions to colleges, 
but the colleges have not yet collected 
sufficient data to advise us about can¬ 
celing farm mortgages. On the evening 
of January first the Editor expressed to 
the Owner his sense of the difficulty of 
getting at economic facts. Following 
up that expression, the Sun advises 
private givers to co-operate with all 
agencies, public or private, that are out 
after fundamental statistics. It recom¬ 
mends philanthropic support of indus¬ 
trial investigators, agricultural investi¬ 
gators, bureaus of municipal research— 
every organization that can gather trust¬ 
worthy data, to be studied by experts 
and interpreted through the press. 

In the absence of any authoritative 
statistics, the Sun can express but a 
guarded opinion about the Flower mort¬ 
gages. Cancellation might cultivate de¬ 
pendence, for it is easy to destroy peo¬ 
ple’s self-respect. To know to what ex¬ 
tent this would happen, one must know 
the mortgagees intimately. It can never 
be too often repeated that hard work 
and responsibility are the necessary con¬ 
ditions of morality. Against cancella¬ 
tion it may also be urged that times 
are improving. The slump is over. It 


172 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


is however certain that the farmers will 
deliberately reduce production so as to 
increase prices. That is a piteous meas¬ 
ure, and the reasons why it is necessary 
should be investigated to the bottom. 
Finally we must point out that Con¬ 
stant Reader’s financial advisers will 
certainly not approve of cancellation. 
She should weigh very carefully the 
personal considerations involved in that 
fact. 

The situation on her farms is not a 
horror, but only a pity. For several 
years not more than ten percent of her 
farms made any money. We are guess¬ 
ing that the average labor income of 
her working farmers for the last ten 
years did not exceed $ 600 , which is less 
than any wage in the union scale of 
labor. 

If she decides to cancel, she may 
remove anxiety, lessen bitterness, culti¬ 
vate public spirit. The Sun knows for 
sure that some of' her debtors will feel 
in honor bound to pass the help along. 
In any case her gift will permit several 
marriages. Financiers do not approve 
of sentiment, because they think that 
the common people are insatiable. We 
disagree. We think that the average 
farmer is easily satisfied. And we do 
not regard Constant Reader’s notion as 
half so eccentric as the beatitudes. 

Investor’s Guide, postscript, by 
Dromillard Schmit.—Received by Asso¬ 
ciated Guess from Seganku, Wis.—The 
way to keep the dollar sound is to avoid 
overtrading. The present writer has 
been taught this great truth by Henry 
Durand, the investment banker. Mr. 
Durand was the first man in Seganku 
to make first mortgage real estate bonds 
safe for small investors. He encour¬ 
aged new types of building, persuaded 
the common council to zone the city, 
studied every foot of ground, learned 
the character of every contractor. Well 
built residences are his special pride. 

The present writer owes everything to 
Mr. Durand. He was Mr. Durand’s un¬ 
derstudy for five years, and then, having 
received an inheritance of his own, was 
taken into partnership to extend the 


February 


173 


business into the field of commercial 
banking. From the first Mr. Durand 
sternly insisted that the firm's invest¬ 
ment banking should be kept scrupu¬ 
lously separate from its commercial dis¬ 
counting. Time and again Mr. Durand 
has restrained the present writer from 
overtrading. 

The Flower Loan and Trust Company 
is carrying a good many mortgages that 
give it no great joy. It would regard 
the cancellation of the Flower mort¬ 
gages as the worst possible business, 
but the present writer is deeply in love 
with Miss Flower and can deny her 
nothing. Therefore if, on the occasion 
of her marriage to the present writer, 
she chooses to cancel in the manner of 
a queen granting pardons, he will make 
no objection. 

The present writer aspires to be the 
best banker in town, but his aim is not 
wealth. Sometimes God sends him 
visions. He dreams of the man he 
would like to be for Sallie’s sake; a 
man on whom the public depends for 
judgment as to what they shall buy; 
a man who controls capital for sane in¬ 
dustrial investment and humane public 
service; a man who is greater than any 
corporation to which he belongs, and 
considerate beyond what is required by 
law; a man who sees beyond profits 
into the hearts of debtors and the future 
of the country; a man who can produce 
reforms quietly, by his bank or his 
newspaper; a man who never twists the 
Bible or the Constitution to excuse 
greed; a man who so brightens the lives 
of workmen that they will not need the 
adventure of a strike; a man who fos¬ 
ters creative joy in the heart of work¬ 
men, and makes possible the thrift 
which assures comfort in old age. No 
one man can unite all these powers 
within himself, but it is no crime to 
have an unattainable ideal. The present 
weakling, humbling himself in the dust, 
would give his life’s blood if he could 
be this ideal man for Sallie’s sake. 

When Sallie was reading these last paragraphs— 
reading with delighted amazement Jim’s desperate 


174 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


effort to present an ideal Drom—she heard a knock 
and saw the door fly open. There stood Gretchen 
Sorg, trying to close the door against the blast. She 
forced it shut, threw off her hood, and turned round. 

“Why, where’s Lorena?” 

“In Fond du Lac.” 

“Why ain’t she home looking after Frank?” 

“Frank is in the hospital. He got hurt.” 

Gretchen dropped to the floor beside Sallie and 
seized her by the wrist. 

“What you mean—got hurt?” 

Sallie explained, while the red-cheeked woman 
still clutched the wrist as if she had captured a thief. 
She had been wondering for two days why her shy 
lover had not come to see her, when he must have 
known that her father’s barn had burned. 

Presently she arose. 

“I’m going to him. There ain’t no use trying to 
go with the car, but I’ll walk. It’s only ten miles.” 

“You can’t. It’s a blizzard.” 

“What do I care? You suppose I’m going to let 
Frank lie there thinking he can’t never ask me to 
marry him?” 

“You’d better wait a bit. Mr. Fletcher is out in 
the barn, and he’s pretty handy with cars. Perhaps 
he can get you to Fond du Lac in his.” 

“No, he can’t. There’s deep water froze on top 
and snow on top of that. There’s big trees down 


February 


175 


across the road. But I can thank God you’re here. 
Will you stay till I bring him?” 

“They won’t let you take him.” 

“Then will you stay till—oh, I don’t know who 
to get!” 

“I’ll stay till you send somebody.” 

Gretchen seized Sallie and kissed her violently, 
just as if she were an ordinary friend in time of 
need. She tied on her hood, opened the door, left 
Sallie to close it as best she might, and struck oil 
across the fields, bound as straight as a rifle shot for 
Fond du Lac. The sleet would blind her. Ruined 
orchards would deflect her. She would break through 
into pools and perhaps freeze her feet. Barbed wire 
would tear her clothes and perhaps her body, but 
nothing could stop her. 

So this was love. Sallie thought about it as she 
stood with her back against the door, having forced 
it shut. To mother a man you were willing to walk 
through blizzards. It was a pretty awful test. She 
did not feel ready yet to walk ten miles through a 
blizzard to reach Drom’s side. 

She sent Jim a message by special pail: “Please 
come to supper.” 

He not only came, but brought a robin for chap¬ 
eron. Lured by the warm days or blown out of the 
south, this robin, named Mike Innisfail, had beat 
against Jim’s window till taken in. Now Mike 
perched on the table and ate crums while Jim de- 


17 6 


SalUe’s Newspaper 


voured creamed potato. It was just as well that 
Mike came, because there was a certain restraint on 
conversation between the unfeathered bipeds. 

After dinner the restraint disappeared while they 
played games of rummy and then sang ancient songs, 
about chasing antelopes over plains. Finally she 
said: 

“I cannot sufficiently thank you for what you 
wrote about Drom.” 

Jim laughed nervously. 

“From my personal point of view, Drom is a nui¬ 
sance. But looking at him impartially, I freely admit 
that he’s coming on finely. He’ll get to be an an¬ 
cestor any minute now, and it’s all due to his deep 
love for you.” 

“Jim, it is you who are making him. It’s the 
power of the press. The only thing he lacks now 
is sentiment. I intend to marry him just as soon 
as he becomes sentimental over farmers.” 

“Really, Sallie, I call that unreasonable. You 
ought not to expect that.” 

“But I do. The man you describe in your wonder¬ 
ful article would rather commit any crime than fore¬ 
close a farm mortgage. And I wish Drom would 
hurry up with his sentimentality. I can’t wait for¬ 
ever.” 

“Sallie, I don’t expect you to wait. I expect you 
to marry Drom any minute now, and be happy with 
him. But please do not worship him. Man is 


February 


177 


mortal, and the Good Lord may see fit to remove 
Drom from this vale of tears, leaving you with four 
promising sons. Pardon me for mentioning the 
number, but next week I shall publish some statistics 
showing that four is the average number of sons in 
Seganku families. We have Milwaukee left behind 
in this respect, and Boston left miles behind. But 
to the point. If you should be happily widowed 
after the great end is accomplished, it might not be 
necessary to marry another banker in order to have 
them brought up right. You could marry me, and 
I’d do my prettiest to choose the right college for 
them.” 

She lifted her eyes most kindly. 

“I really think, Jim, that you would do nicely for 
a second husband, but you mustn’t count on it.” 

XV 

Next morning they were rescued. Larsen arrived 
with a roar of effort, bringing Miss Durand and two 
strangers. Jo declared herself glad to escape from 
a hotel where she was allowed no warmth or light 
save that arising from two candles. She reported 
the patient doing bravely and soon to be married. 

The strangers were a man and his wife, competent 
farmers. To Larsen they were not strangers but 
relatives. They were hired for the rest of the winter 
and spring, probably for the rest of their lives. Jim 
took a farewell look at the sanctum where he had 


i7« 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


been so happy, and discussed with the new hired man 
the future of Robert Burns Ayrshire. 

Sallie put up lunch enough for an army and 
gathered a fagot of cedar shavings and red oak 
splinters. Jim must have his hot coffee, so dear to 
the editorial palate. 

Jim led the way dogmatically, and the big car fol¬ 
lowed tentatively, profiting by his disasters. They 
skidded south and slid east. They performed de¬ 
tours. They described enough epicycles to satisfy 
Ptolemy. They waited for men to rotate trees and 
poles. They lifted the lunch basket and their feet 
whenever the water suggested these forms of eleva¬ 
tion. 

The world coruscated. All was gemmy. Fences 
that yesterday were woven of wire were now woven 
of Venetian glass. It was impossible to speak of 
diamonds without punning on purest water. Every 
telephone wire was within, and the transparent cable 
lay on the ground. They rode through colors, flash- 
ingly. All the stars had been drawn on to furnish 
these points of red and blue that burned and van¬ 
ished. All the rainbows since Noah had been 
hoarded as fuel for this magnificence. 

And Sallie cared nothing, but sat sorrowful. To¬ 
morrow the pageant would melt like riches, leaving 
farmers ruined. They stopped for lunch, making a 
little fire on the roadside ice, where the very spears 
of dead grass had been swollen to enchanter’s rods, 


February 


179 


and then struggled on through the crystalline death. 
They reached Seganku before dark and found it do¬ 
ing business with the south, though not yet with the 
north. 

And when they attained to the corner of Lake 
and High, they found Drom bossing the funeral of 
the musical elms. Two trunks had been severed 
close to the ground, but of the rest some part was 
standing. Sallie walked on down to the shore, past 
her oaks, which had stood the shock much better. 
She felt pretty selfish to own twelve acres right in 
the heart of town, with a great lake at the foot of it, 
but then Sallie was always feeling selfish. 

Jim hastened to the office, where Morna instantly 
gave him a kiss, and told him that she was married 
to Steve Dempsey. The whole force was just leav¬ 
ing, but every man and woman lingered long enough 
to shake hands. 

Only John Capps had the nerve to perch on the 
arm of the chair and bother him while he was try¬ 
ing to read the issues that had appeared in his 
absence. 





PART III 

MARCH 

1924 






PART III 

MARCH 

1924 

I 


O N THE third of March Sallie wrote a formal 
letter to the Flower Loan and Trust Com¬ 
pany, requesting them to arrange for the 
cancellation of her forty-eight mortgages. She 
further expressed a desire to have a hundred thou¬ 
sand dollars added to her checking account immedi¬ 
ately, because she intended to present each of her 
mortgagees with a small sum of money for the im¬ 
provement of his farm. 

The letter did not reach Durand and Schmit until 
the fourth. Mr. Durand spent the evening thinking 
about it, but Mr. Schmit was too busy. That evening 
he was dining the members of the Lions’ Club, on 
the occasion of his installation as the second presi¬ 
dent. The first president had been Sam Glendower 
president of the Zone Seven Utilities Company, that 
was buying up the Seganku Electric Company. Mr. 
Glendower was easily the ablest business man in 
Seganku, and a man of unblemished reputation and 
great generosity, and it was no easy matter to follow 
him. 


184 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Drom’s other associates in the Lions were among 
the very choicest chaps in Seganku—such men as 
Art Chapman, architect; Gerard Kwekkeboom, 
enamelware; Bill Mercer, chairs; Hans Miller, 
cheese; Hugo Langsam, automobiles; Fritz Hoch- 
muller, leather; Ally Tucker, insurance; Kuno Kaase, 
contractor; Walt Dyer, lumber; Ab Fuller, oil and 
grease; Pete Schaefer, surgeon; William Jennings 
Bryan Weaver, dentist; and Jim Fletcher, journalist. 
Drom felt that they had done him great honor— 
quite as great an honor as being made president of 
the chamber of commerce—because this new recogni¬ 
tion was intimate. He knew that he had been con¬ 
sidered too chesty at times, and this election endorsed 
him as a good fellow. 

Since his own speeches were a little inclined to be 
heavy, he had invited Dr. Napper as his guest for 
the evening, and succeeded in extracting a fairly witty 
speech from that dry fellow. And since the inces¬ 
sant discussion of banking, enamelware, chairs, 
cheese, cars, leather, oil, and grease tends to a cer¬ 
tain matter-of-factness, whereas man is naturally a 
poetic creature, Drom introduced poetry by an ap¬ 
proved mechanical method. It is known that the 
absorption of grape juice containing ethyl alcohol 
will stimulate the fancy and make earth seem, pro- 
tempore, even a more beautiful place than it is. 
Drom furnished what is called champagne, and 
everybody except Sam Glendower drank it. Mr. 


March 


185 

Glendower knew that it was against the law, but 
though he himself refrained, he offered no criticism 
of the others. 

What was Drom’s digust, then, to find next day 
that his ingrate guest, Dr. Napper, had basely be¬ 
trayed him in the paper: 

Champagne.—The Scientific Editor is 
very much ashamed to confess that last 
night he drank a good deal of excel¬ 
lent champagne. He is aware that yes¬ 
terday some fifty-eight identical bills, 
one of them from Seganku, were intro¬ 
duced in the House at Washington to 
legalize beverages of 2.75 percent alco¬ 
holic content as non-intoxicating, but he 
is also aware that none of these bills 
has yet been passed. There are times 
when he does not hesitate to break the 
letter of a law, even times when he 
recognizes a law higher than the Con¬ 
stitution, but drinking champagne with 
a lot of good fellows is not one of 
these times. If it should become known 
to his students that he did such a thing, 
it would set them a bad example and 
give them an excuse for drinking on 
the sly. He now makes it known to 
them, and. begs them to obey the law. 

The law has been made necessary by 
the dangers of strong drink in a nation 
which produces automobiles in very 
large quantities. There are more cars 
in the state of Illinois than in all Great 
Britain, and some are owned by irre¬ 
sponsible boys. 

On Ash Wednesday Sallie received from her 
Uncle Henry a courteous acknowledge of the re¬ 
ceipt of her request, which affected forty-eight deeds 
and forty-eight sets of notes, not to mention her 
other securities. Uncle Henry wrote that he must 
have a little time to think about it. He trusted that 


186 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


she would be at home on Friday morning, when he 
would give himself the pleasure of calling. 

When Friday dawned, she found herself a bit 
nervous. It was a cheerless, rainy morning, and her 
spirits were low. She put on a dress that she knew 
her uncle liked, and wandered about the house, wait¬ 
ing. Finally she mounted the narrow stairs to her 
favorite playroom. In one corner of it, if the truth 
must be confessed, sat her most valued counselor, 
Miss Pocahontas Flower, looking precisely as she 
had looked twenty years before. Poke was not any¬ 
body in a fleshly sense, but her wax and stuffing were 
still dear to Sallie. 

Twenty minutes more and a car drew up at the 
curb. She saw her uncle and his wife descend in 
raincoats and come up the walk, every step a pro¬ 
test. She was not surprised that Uncle Henry 
brought Aunt Hattie along. That was to engage 
Aunt Jo in conversation. 

She ran down and gave him a hearty kiss. 

“You didn’t bring Drom?” 

“No, I thought that unnecessary. I expect to find 
you reasonable.” 

“Where’s Aunt Hattie?” 

“In the other room with Jo, discussing the 
weather. And now, my dear, I’d like to say that 
you have a big heart. You make me ashamed of 
myself. But you must remember that the Durands 
have never been wastrels. Your mother used to 


March 


187 


boast of our peasant ancestry, and say that but for 
her your father would have squandered both the 
fortunes. That was not probable, but your father 
chose me for his executor because he knew that I 
am sparing. And if he could have known how sud¬ 
den his death would be, he would have wished your 
Aunt Jo to care for you, because he knew that she 
too is sparing. What possessed her to write as she’s 
lately been writing I can’t imagine. I think the 
woman must be going crazy.” 

“No, Uncle Henry, she is still the same old dar¬ 
ling miser. But she has been reading. She reads 
biology and sociology all the time, and she’s getting 
to distrust the wisdom of accumulating fortunes.” 

“Sara, my dear niece, I shall raise no objection 
to your making a generous contribution. I should 
call it generous if you reduced your rate of interest 
one-half.” 

“Thank you, Uncle Henry, but you don’t quite get 
the point. I intend not only to cancel, but to dis¬ 
tribute a hundred thousand.” 

“My dear, my very dear child, your father would 
not permit you to distribute a hundred thousand.” 

“My dear, my very dear uncle, if my daddy were 
here, and he were half as generous as you say he 
was, he would give it himself.” 

Henry shook his head and preserved his peace. 
He was very gentle with her. He knew the Flower 
character—its willingness to take a chance, its driv- 


188 Sallie’s Newspaper 

ing force when opposed, its tractability when handled 
right. 

“I supposed you’ve saved lots of money for my 
folks.” 

“Well, your father was often generous enough to 
say so. I was always a sort of watch-dog for him. 
But his dear daughter troubles her old uncle very 
much.” 

“You mustn’t let me, you silvery old darling. 
Just don’t oppose me in anything, and see how happy 
you’ll be.” 

“Sallie, dear, do you mind if I ask you a very 
personal question?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“Do you care for Drom?” 

“I’m very fond of him.” 

“Have you thought of him as a possible hus¬ 
band?” 

“I have. I have almost as good as accepted him. 
I haven’t told Aunt Jo, for the circumstances were 
a trifle queer. But if everything goes smoothly till 
about Easter time, I reckon I’ll say yes.” 

Uncle Henry was so pleased that he arose and 
kissed his niece, one wavy lock of silver drooping 
down from where it was parted in the middle to 
where it tickled her nose. To be quite accurate, 
the lock itself was not parted, but had its declining 
existence close to the parting. 


March 189 

“Under the circumstances do you mind if I send 
him up this afternoon to talk to you?” 

“Of course not. He’s more of a plunger than you 
are, and he will not stand in the way. Would it be 
hard to realize a hundred thousand quickly?” 

“No. Your non-taxables can be disposed of with¬ 
out loss within twenty-four hours. But I hope you 
will think better of it.” 

He rose to go, and they both walked to the draw¬ 
ing room, where Aunt Jo, all fresh and sweet but 
lounging with one knee over the other, was listening 
to Aunt Hattie while she chirped about the desir¬ 
ability of social doings in this big house. 

“I’m afraid we can’t afford it, Harriet.” 

“The very idea! ” 

Josephine smiled like the sphinx. “Sallie and I 
are getting to be skinflints. Aren’t we, Sallie?” 

“Indeed we are. It was awfully sweet of you, 
Aunt Hattie, to come up here in all this rain to keep 
Aunt Jo quiet while Uncle Henry lectured me. He 
has shown me that we really must be economical.” 

About half past three Drom arrived, holding in 
his hand the afternoon paper. He had taken it from 
the reluctant and dripping carrier, John Capps, boy 
scout, writer, radio inventor, and captain of the Sun’s 
baseball team, who always made it his business to 
ring the bell and hand the paper in. To have thrown 
Miss Flower’s paper on the porch would have been 
a disgrace to the whole team. 


190 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Drom still held the paper when Sallie came down, 
and he presented it with a bow. She took the pretty 
thing, and held it in her hand while they talked. 

“I see that a new honor has been conferred upon 
you.” 

“It is always an honor to obey your summons.” 

“Oh, dear, no. I meant the presidency of the 
Lions.” 

“Oh, that. I had to give the boys a little dinner.” 

“What did it cost you?” 

“Oh, about three hundred.” 

“That would send a farm boy to college for a 
whole year, Drom.” 

“I doubt it, Sallie. Anyhow, these get-together 
things are necessary, or there wouldn’t be a surplus 
for extravagant young ladies to blow in. There’s 
only one kind of a Lion, and that a live Lion. A 
little dinner now and then is just a necessary over¬ 
head cost.” 

“Champagne included?” 

“Why not? But that fellow Napper will never 
get another invitation from me.” 

“Well, Mr. President, I hope you haven’t come 
up here to question my rights.” 

“I haven’t.” 

“Could the cash be had promptly?” 

“No. It would put us out a good deal.” 

“Drom, do you consider Uncle Henry a strictly 
truthful person?” 


March 


191 

“Certainly. Henry Durand’s word is a good deal 
better than his bond.” 

“But he says that my non-taxable securities could 
be cashed in a single day.” 

“Oh, I see. The non-taxables.” 

“Yes, the non-taxables. Didn’t it occur to you?” 

“Why, it occurred to me, but I rather calculate 
to have you live off your non-taxables. The rest 
ought to be so handled as to add to your capital.” 

“Isn’t that speculation?” 

“Certainly not. The aim of investment is to in¬ 
crease capital.” 

“Well, do you think you have any right to dictate 
what part of my capital I shall use?” 

u No, but, hang it, Sallie, you are making your¬ 
self ridiculous. First you lavish money on a country 
newspaper. Now you propose to give away a for¬ 
tune. It’s eccentric. It’s unheard of. It’s senti¬ 
mental. I can’t have you talked about. I won’t have 
you called crazy.” 

“Drom, men have married crazy girls before now, 
if they were crazy about the crazy girls.” 

Drom laughed. “You can’t catch me that way. 
I’ve made up my mind to marry you, sane or crazy. 
And just because I’m going to do that, I think I have 
some rights. I’m going to put my foot down. You 
can cancel the mortgages, but you can’t have that 
hundred thousand.” 

“Why not?” 


192 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“I love you too much.” 

“That’s a nice reason, Drom. But it is always 
easy to find reasons for doing what one intends to 
do anyhow. With your permission I’ll just glance 
at the paper and find a reason for what I propose to 
do.” 

She glanced over the front page and shook her 
head. She turned a leaf, and then another. 

“Drom, have you noticed how often Jim says 
‘any minute now’ ?” 

“No.” 

“He’s always saying that, and any minute now 
I’m likely to find a reason. Ah, here it is! What 
do you think the paper says?” 

“I hope it says that it isn’t etiquette to court 
notoriety.” 

“Listen, Drom. Mrs. Steven Finnigan Dempsey 
has given fifty dollars to the hospital. I didn’t even 
know that Mr. Dempsey was married.” 

“The linotyper?” 

She murmured an affirmative, for now she had 
skipped from H to M. She read aloud: 

Married.—On February 26, at St. 

Mel’s, by the Reverend Father Innisfail, 

Mr. Steven Finnigan Dempsey and Miss 
Morna Innisfail, niece of the officiating 
priest. 

A certain very sweet smile flashed over Sallie’s 
face, so that the startled Drom perceived for the 
first time that she was beautiful. 


March 


193 


“He has married that black-haired Morna in the 
office—that is, in the church. It’s time somebody 
did. But fifty dollars, Mr. Dromillard Schmit, from 
a girl who works in an office 1 You will kindly have 
a draft for a hundred thousand dollars right here 
in this room by this time tomorrow.” 

“Not on your life!” 

“Be nice to me, Drom, or I shall do something des¬ 
perate.” 

“What, for instance?” 

“Sell this place.” 

“It wouldn’t bring half what you demand, unless 
you could wish it onto the city.” 

“Does the city need it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Sallie looked at him thoughtfully. Evidently 
Drom had civic ideas, but not a particle of civic 
energy. 

“Drom, I’d like to repeat that question. In your 
opinion does the city need this place?” 

“It certainly doesn’t need the house. But I sup¬ 
pose that if you started an agitation about public 
playgrounds and did a certain amount of lobbying, 
you could foist the whole twelve acres upon the com¬ 
mon council. It would take time, but with Sam 
Glendower to help, it could be done. We would 
issue bonds.” 

“I think the town is too heavily bonded as it is. 
Is that playground idea yours?” 


194 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“So far as I know.” 

“Well, it’s a fine one. I’ll expect you with the 
money by dinner time tomorrow. Come and dine, 
and we’ll talk playgrounds afterwards.” 

“Sorry, Sallie. Can’t possibly.” 

“Better come, or you’ll be sorrier.” 

“Mean that you won’t marry me?” 

Sallie’s chin, which sometimes looked like her 
piratical grandfather’s, went up. 

“If I marry you, it will not be for a definite sum.” 

“You’ll appeal to the courts?” 

“No.” 

“All right, then. Anything you can do short of 
those two things you are welcome to do.” 

He departed, and wasted time like a spendthrift. 
That is to say, he went home and read the paper, 
and plunged into authorship. He wrote an article 
criticizing President Coolidge severely for currying 
favor with the farmers. He approved neither the 
increased tariff on wheat and flour nor the decreased 
ad valorem rate on mill feeds. 

Sallie was hoping for him, almost praying for him, 
as one hopes and prays that a spendthrift son will 
reform. But twenty-four hours passed without any 
sign of repentance on Drom’s part. Then she acted. 

II 

Saturday evening, in his room at the Jefferson 
House, Jim was doing an editorial for Monday. He 


March 


195 


had been in correspondence with the Sears-Roebuck 
Agricultural Foundation and secured its estimate that 
during the year 1923 another million persons left 
the farms for the cities. 

That, of course, was bad for America. No use to 
argue with Jim that town wages were irresistible. 
No use to remind him that there was no sale for 
wheat. With Jim it was a matter of honor not to 
desert the farms, and moreover he had found a new 
text in Wookey’s paragraph of the twelfth. Boys 
ought to suffer hardship and carry responsibility. It 
was necessary in order to keep their moral fibre firm. 

But what can one country editor, with a circula¬ 
tion of ten thousand, do to prevent a million people 
from leaving the farms? Next to nothing. He 
fights the national urge, the comfort-seeking spirit 
of the time. He fights a million automatic machines 
producing city attractions. He fights an acceleration 
of livi ig the like of which is utterly new on earth. 
He fights the fact that Americans simply do not 
realize how fast they are going. 

Jim was well aware that his screed would sound 
like a Sunday School preachment: be poor and you 
will be happy; be a hayseed and all things shall be 
added unto you; save your pennies to pay off the 
mortgage, and you will be president by and by. But 
he was endeavoring to avoid such fantastic promises. 
He was merely maintaining that a good modern farm 
is the best place on which to bring up a boy. He did 


196 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


not deny that there is immorality in the country dis¬ 
tricts, but he did assert that the farm strengthens 
moral fibre. 

As he wrote he heard a knock at the door and 
called “Come in.” In came Larsen, who doffed his 
cap and laid a note on the table, while Jim barely 
glanced up. 

“Everything all right down at the Blewitt place?” 
“I tank so.” 

“Your cousin will find that rotted limestone the 
best soil he ever worked. Have a cigar.” 

Larsen looked round for the cigars, but finding 
none and observing the editor’s preoccupation, si¬ 
lently departed. 

Jim penciled his last page, collected the scattered 
leaves, glanced them through, and informed himself 
that he was a damned fool. 

Then he reached for Sallie’s envelope and stood 
up. He ran his letter opener along the edge of it 
and released an earthquake: 

Bargains.—See For Sale. Sallie Flower has some¬ 
thing to sell. 

Cash.—For a hundred thousand needed by Sara Dur¬ 
and Flower, see For Sale. 

Credit.—No credit allowed by Miss Flower. See 
For Sale. 

For Sale.—The building occupied by the Flower 
Loan and Trust Company, valued by the assessors at 
$120,000. The price till further notice is $80,000 cash. 
The Flower residence at the corner of Lake and High 
is also for sale, price $20,000 cash. This will include 


March 


197 


two acres of ground, and is less than half of what the 
property is worth. For either of these bargains apply 
directly to Sara Durand Flower, Lake and High. No 
person will be admitted unless he can show a certified 
check. 

Jim was so shocked by this stuff that he un¬ 
consciously kept backing away from it till his heel 
hit a great iron dumb-bell and he felt himself going 
over backwards. He saved himself by jerking the 
motion into a handspring, but he came up still 
shocked. 

He perused the ghastly mistake and saw that the 
Lord had delivered his enemy into his hands. All 
he had to do was to print it. Drom would never 
marry a girl who offered his office for sale. With 
Drom out of the way Jim thought that Jim might 
really have a chance. 

He had no shadow of objection to her giving away 
money. The more she gave away, the less inacces¬ 
sible she would be. 

But— 

She was banking on him to help her. She was 
disciplining Drom. She thought that Drom loved 
her enough to stand a little disciplining. In sending 
this advertisement to be printed, she was entrusting 
the editor with her dearest treasure. 

So he must not fail her. He must not print it. On 
the contrary he must summon Drom and make him 
surrender her money. 


19s 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


He glanced around the room to make sure that it 
was ready to receive the banker. There would have 
to be some cigars, for Bismarck told Thiers that 
cigars are the first principle of diplomacy. Un¬ 
fortunately he seemed to have given away that box 
that Drom had given him for Christmas. He there¬ 
fore called a tobacconist to see if he could get a 
duplicate of Drom’s present. 

The tobacconist went to look, and while he was 
gone a doubt assailed Jim. If he even showed Drom 
that document, or hinted of its existence, the fat 
might be in the fire. So when the tobacconist re¬ 
ported that he still had some perfectissimos, Jim 
asked him to send them to Father Innisfail. 

Then he stood still and considered. If he had a 
hundred thousand he would gladly give it to Sallie, 
but it would not help her much. What she chiefly 
wanted was Drom, an improved and idealistic Drom. 
It was therefore up to Jim to improve Drom till 
Drom surrendered in an idealistic manner. And 
this change of heart must be accomplished before 
Monday afternoon, or she would come down on the 
editor like a thousand of bricks. 

He began to fear that conversation with Drom 
would fail to mellow the apple in so short a time. 
Perhaps if a humane banker like Mr. Frank John 
Alexander were to do the talking, the miracle might 
be accomplished, but it was unlikely that Mr. Alex¬ 
ander could be persuaded to run up to Seganku and 


March 


199 


advise a stranger in so delicate a business. Nor 
would he lend another stranger a hundred thousand 
so that, supported by the sense of potential energy 
in his pocket, said second stranger might speak 
persuasively to said first stranger. 

Yet if J. F. F. had such a sum, and should 
casually mention to D. S. that he thought of lend¬ 
ing it to S. D. F., such language might have an effect. 
It would be. as if collateral should suddenly arise 
from the vault and speak with most miraculous 
organ. 

Who, then, would lend Jim Fletcher a hundred 
thousand dollars for twenty-four hours? 

Nobody. Absolutely nobody on the stricken earth. 
Under the circumstances he would walk down to 
the station, and see the trains come in. 

He put on his raincoat and wandered out into 
the wet. He proceeded whither old habit led. But 
as he walked along he passed an alley where a light 
shone through the damp snow from rooms above a 
garage. He halted, and wondered if it was etiquette 
to call so soon upon a newly married pair. 

Probably not. They were to be left alone to get 
acquainted with each other. Yes, and to enjoy a 
bliss the like of which was forever denied to Jim 
Fletcher. He started on, conscious that what im¬ 
pelled him was not etiquette but envy. His most 
decent acts had that way of revealing themselves as 
contemptible. He despised his own conscience for 


200 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


allowing itself no virtue. He would have to be 
firmer with his conscience. There was such a thing 
as virtue, and he was virtuous to resist the tempta¬ 
tion to look in on bliss. Suddenly deciding that his 
virtue ought to be rewarded, he went back and rang 
the bell. 

When somebody opened the door at the head of 
the stairs, he called up. 

“Is the notorious Mr. Dempsey at home? A 
representative of the Seganku Daily Sun requests an 
interview.” 

Steve descended and tenderly led him up by the 
hand, as a discharged man should always treat his 
erring employer. Morna came forward with hands 
still damp from washing dishes, and gently pushed 
her husband aside so that she might have the honor 
of helping the Boss oh with his coat. She saw by 
his eyes that he was lonesome. 

One beautiful blue pitcher stood on the table, but 
the rest of the ancestral set which Jim had given 
them remained in the box, which was now covered 
with Steve’s army blanket. As there seemed to be 
no chairs, Jim sat down on his mother’s precious 
china. 

“We are never going to use it, Mr. Fletcher, till 
we get to be a big editor. Steve is going to buy me 
a set of imitations, so that we can always be thinking 
how much nicer it is to be eating off imitations and 
thnking how much nicer it will be some day to be 


March 


201 


eating off blue jewels than it would be to be eating 
off blue jewels and thinking how perfectly terrible it 
would be if any of them got broken before we got 
to be a big editor.” 

“That sounds straight, Morna, but I doubt if 
Steve could set it. Now tell me how Steve is going 
to buy you even imitations. I see neither chairs, 
rugs, sewing machine, nor anything else pertaining to 
a home, except two shining faces.” 

“Steve isn’t really going to buy them. I’m going 
to buy them myself.” 

“How can you, when you give so much to hos¬ 
pitals?” 

“Don’t listen to her, Boss. Have a cigarette.” 

Steve was holding out a yellow package apparently 
named for Drom, for it bore a dromedary baying 
at the moon while his tail fluttered against a pyra¬ 
mid. Jim declined with thanks, and Steve lighted 
one himself. 

“In a short time, Boss, I shall have money to burn. 
I’m going to write specials and syndicate ’em.” 

“You can’t. You’re a Catholic.” 

“What’s that to do with it?” 

“Everything, unless you can syndicate dromedaries 
and pyramids. And you’d better beware how you 
touch on pyramids. They were erected under 
priestly direction by deluded slaves.” 

“But I’d like to say just that sort of thing. I’ll 
take a package of Dromedaries for a text.” 


202 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Stick to your linotype, son. You’ve captured a 
very great prize, and she doesn’t want an author for 
a husband. Do you, Morna?” 

“I shouldn’t mind.” 

“Sure?” 

“Sure, Mr. Fletcher.” 

“Then let him write for the Sun . I’ll even suggest 
a heading for him—The Pillory. He’ll need some 
such classification, for he’ll always be wrong, and I 
shall throw things at him.” 

“Good heading, Boss.” 

“All right. Let it be understood that I shall not 
spare you, but I’ll pay you three cents a word for 
everything I accept.” 

“It’s a bargain. I’ll set the heading tomorrow. 
Pity I can’t display it.” 

“I fancy that you’ll feel displayed quite enough. 
Morna, isn’t this a fearsome way to earn money? 
Are you willing to see your husband flayed alive to 
buy you some dishes?” 

“Yes,” laughed Morna, “so long as nobody knows 
who it is that is being skinned. But everybody will 
want to know. I’m dying to know something like 
that myself.” 

“Well, I should hate to see a bride perish.” 

“Then who is writing the etiquette stories?” 

“Miss JosepTiine Durand.” 

“I’m awfully glad to know. I loved what she said 
about telephones—about men hating telephone gos- 


March 


203 


sip. Some days I think there isn’t a girl in Seganku 
who deserves to be married. But the telephone itself 
is wonderful.” 

“Morna, that is not etiquette. You must find noth¬ 
ing wonderful. The telephone is a utility, and when 
we establish communication with the planets, you 
must merely complain about the rates.” 

“You are just joking, Mr. Fletcher. Why, every 
time I answer long distance I say to myself that 
even if Steve were in Los Angeles, he could call me 
up and tell me he loved me.” 

“Or,” added Steve, “ask you for the loan of 
twelve bucks to pay the toll with.” 

“Morna,” said Jim, opening his eyes very wide, 
“did you say Los Angeles?” 

“Sure. I have a cousin out there.” 

“Morna, you are a wonderful creature. You’ve 
given me an idea that is worth money.” 

“What idea, Mr. Fletcher?” 

“Morna, when the editor gets an idea, he’s will¬ 
ing to pay for it, but he is rarely willing to tell 
it. I evade your question by saying that the Sun is 
not entirely satisfied with its telephone service.” 

“I should say not! If we try to get exclusive 
news, it’s all over town before we can print it. Those 
girls in central are simply awful. If I wanted to 
talk to Mrs. Henry Kranz, for instance, I’d go to 
Milwaukee.” 

“Good idea, Morna. Good night, and bless you 
both.” 


204 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


When the Boss had gone, the lovers executed a 
one-step round the tiny room. 

“Mavourneen, will the typewriter keep you awake 
if I sit up and operute it?” 

“What a question to ask a typist! Steve, you 
make me cross.” 

“That’s nothing. My religion teaches me to kiss 
the cross.” And he performed his penance. 

“But do be careful what you write. Do try to be 
of some help to Mr. Fletcher. You know what’s 
the matter with him, don’t you?” 

“I know he’s sweet on the owner.” 

“Well, darling, keep it in mind. We must try 
to get him married to Miss Flower.” 

“Leave it to me, mavourneen! I’ll hoist the 
Dromedary up with me to where she can behold 
him, an object of derusion. Little children shall 
stuck out the tingue. Old men and flappers shall 
point the finger of scorn, saying ‘See them two 


By ten o’clock on Monday Steve was setting his 
first contribution and the cruel comment. He molded 
in hot lead the following difference of opinion: 

The Pillory.—Under this head the 
most progressive member of the Sun 
staff will free his mind once a week as 
long: as he is permitted. He will stand 
in The Pillory, like Daniel Defoe, and 
be punished by the Editor for expressing 


March 


205 


progressive ideas. Defoe suffered for 
defending protestants, but the Pillory 
Man is a good Catholic, and does not 
admit for a minute that a Catholic has 
to be a reactionary. 

Saturday evening the Pillory Man had 
a talk with the Editor, who expressed 
the opinion that Dromedary cigarettes 
are not fit to smoke. A typical reac¬ 
tionary opinion, you see. Dromedaries 
are fine to smoke, but the price is shoved 
up and down without regard to value. 
Even when it holds still for a month, 
a dollar will buy more of them on one 
day than it will on others. 

This is because we have a dollar that 
fluctuates. We need a dollar that does 
not fluctuate. A Yale professor has ex¬ 
plained how easy it would be to have 
such a dollar, and the best business 
minds of the country agree with him. 
Fisher’s dollar is opposed only by 
such ungenerous fossils as Dromedary 
Schmit. 

The remedy is very simple. Instead 
of the present rigid dollar, defined only 
in terms of weight, we must have a com¬ 
modity dollar. It should be a composite 
photograph of the goods we most need, 
such as Dromedaries, china, rugs, flour, 
beefsteak, sugar, and eggs. Thus a dol¬ 
lar certificate would represent, say, one 
Dromedary, one blue plate, one rug, one 
cup of flour, one pound of steak, one 
pound of sugar, and one egg. 

Every month the United States Treas¬ 
ury would increase or decrease the 
amount of gold on deposit to redeem 
the certificates. It would follow the 
price index of commodities. By this 
means the evil of gambling in gold 
would be remedied. As matters now 
stand, the owner of gold is always 
richer than he pretends to be, while the 
laborer is always poorer than he thinks 
he is. 

(Editorial Note .—Where would the 
Government get the gold to increase its 
reserve when the commodity dollar went 
up? How would it make good its loss 
when the commodity dollar went down? 
On a question of this sort Dromillard 
Schmit is to the Pillory Man as Sir 


20 6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Isaac Newton to a bright kid in the 
Seganku high school. Another point. 

The Pillory Man calls Dromillard 
Schmit ungenerous. But we learn that 
Mr. Schmit is today liquidating certain 
investments which will permit one of 
our citizens to perform an act of gen¬ 
erosity unparalleled in the history of 
Seganku.— J. F. F.) 

Monday afternoon Mr. Schmit’s paper was 
thoughtfully delivered to him earlier than usual. He 
had eaten a good lunch with some of the Lions, 
though firmly refusing pie. It was half past two 
and he was back at his desk. 

The paper was handed in, and he glanced it over 
pretty carefully. He always did. The odd heading 
“The Pillory” arrested his eye. He read with 
amusement, then with anger. He read the editorial 
note with pleasure, then with amazement. He was 
surprised that Jim had learned of Sallie’s proposed 
folly, and more surprised that Jim fancied she would 
be permitted to be foolish. 

Almost immediately in came Jim. 

“Hello, old man. Get your paper yet? Notice 
Steve Dempsey’s maiden effort?” 

“I did. Why do you let that fool break into 
print?” 

“To give you a chance to answer him. You really 
ought to do that. But I dropped in to congratulate 
you on digging up a hundred thousand for Sallie. 
She told me about it.” 

Drom eyed him sharply from under his handsome 
heavy lids. 


March 


207 


“Sallie is too optimistic.” 

“You surprise me.” 

“Jim, I’ll be frank with you. I’m going to tame 
that girl.” 

“I’ll bet,” grinned Jim, “that you won’t. I’ll bet 
you the hundred thousand.” 

“If you had it, I’d take you so quick you’d be 
worse surprised.” 

“Be cautious, Drom.” 

Again Drom eyed him. “What are you getting 
at?” 

“Monte Cristo stuff.” 

“Jim,” said Drom with solemnity, “have you been 
speculating?” 

“Drom, you sound like Pastor Bock. But sup¬ 
pose you call up Billy Skaggs and ask him if I’m 
good for a hundred thousand.” 

“Your word is good enough.” 

“Oh, no, Drom, I’m a natural born liar.” 

Drom lifted the telephone and asked for the 
cashier of the Bank of Seganku. What he learned 
seemed annoyingly satisfactory. In fact Jim could 
himself hear Billy’s metallic accents, saying out of 
nowhere that Fletcher could check out a hundred 
thousand and have eighteen thousand left. 

Drom set down the black cylinder, which was the 
milk of a tropical tree hardened, as the milk of 
human kindness sometimes hardens. 

“Jim, you want to chat with Mr. Durand for 
about ten minutes, don’t you?” 


208 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Wouldn’t miss it for worlds.’’ 

Jim disappeared into another private cage, which 
was not really a cage but was sufficiently removed, 
and Drom lifted the cylinder to call his Chicago cor¬ 
respondent. 

While the editor was asking Mr. Durand a polite 
string of questions about his building projects, Drom 
came over and laid before his partner a draft. It 
was dated for Tuesday, but it placed the desired hun¬ 
dred thousand at the mercy of one Sara Durand 
Flower. 

Uncle Henry looked intently at the elegant piece 
of paper, as if trying to decide from what shirt-tail 
it was manufactured. Perchance it was made from 
an old handkerchief vainly wet with tears. He 
sighed, and added his signature. 

Drom took the draft and held it out to Jim. 

“You will oblige us if you will call on her and 
hand this to her.” 

“Not I.” 

“Yes, you.” 

“Not I. I had nothing to do with this.” 

It was then that Drom rose to heights. 

“Jim Fletcher, you are a liar.” 

“Tut, tut!” said Uncle Henry. 

“Don’t rebuke him. It was a most unselfish thing 
to say. But he ought deliver that draft himself.” 

“I won’t,” said Drom. “I’m not sailing under 
false colors.” 


March 


209 


“There’s something between you two men,” quoth 
Uncle Henry, “that I don’t understand.” 

Drom scowled. “You’d understand it fast enough 
if your niece asked you to cash a check for this 
amount signed by J. F. Fletcher.” 

“I made no such proposition,” said Jim. 

“I was not aware,” said Uncle Henry with a 
change of manner, “that Mr. Fletcher was a man of 
means.” 

Jim looked at the clock. 

“I’m not. Banking hours are over, and so is my 
wealth.” 

Drom reached out a hand for the draft, but con¬ 
trolled himself. 

“You’ve played as smooth a game as ever I saw 
played. I don’t know what imbecile lent you that 
fortune, but this one will not go out from this office 
unless you carry it. You’ll take the responsibility 
and the credit.” 

“I don’t mind the one, but I don’t want the other.” 

“You’ll take it nevertheless. If you don’t lift 
that draft off the desk in ten seconds, I’ll tear it up.” 

Jim seized the thing and hid it in his pocket. 

“Mr. Durand, our friend is getting to be a hero 
too fast for his own good. I’ve got his future happi¬ 
ness right here in my pocket, but I’ll surrender it to 
you any minute now, if you will deliver it into Sal- 
lie’s keeping.” 

Uncle Henry reflected, toying with his jeweled 


210 


SaUie’s Newspaper 


» 


cross and crown. As an eminent commander of 
Knights Templars, he must neither dodge the one 
nor refuse the other. 

“Your young partner,” continued Jim, “said some¬ 
thing just now that I should resent. He is proud 
and honest, but he will not be a perfect husband if 
he feels free to dictate what messages shall leave 
this office and what shall not.” 

“That,” said Uncle Henry, “is correct.” 

“Then will you deliver the goods?” 

“I will.” 

“And will you say that Drom defers to your judg¬ 
ment ?” 

“No, I won’t say that.” 

Jim turned to Drom and held out a hand. 

“Give him instructions.” 

Drom took the hand and gave it the first really 
friendly grasp he had given it in years. 

“I admit that I ought to defer more to Mr. 
Durand. But there is a lie implicit in the whole 
situation.” 

“Drom, that’s precisely the sort of thing that Sallie 
likes to hear you say. I’m guessing that she would 
be intensely pleased by all you have said this after¬ 
noon. Now may I depend on both of you not to 
mention my name?” 

“Why, yes,” said Uncle Henry, “if you wish it.” 

“Yes,” said Drom, “unless she mentions it her¬ 
self.” 


March 


211 


Content with these promises, Jim departed. But 
instead of returning to the office—where Sallie 
would presently be telephoning to learn why her ad¬ 
vertisement had not appeared—he took the inter- 
urban to Manitowoc, that brave little city which is 
named for supernatural guardians. From Mani¬ 
towoc he wrote and mailed a note: 

Manitowoc, Wis., 
March io, 1924. 

Dear Miss Flower: 

I owe you an apology for failing to print your adver¬ 
tisement today. An editor should not, of course, take 
advantage of his early information to advance his own ~ 
interests, but the temptation to do so was overwhelming. 

I should like very much to own your grand old 
house. I used to have the full price that you ask for 
it, but I may say to you, not for publication but as a 
mark of good faith, that I have parted with two thou¬ 
sand. This plunder went to Russia disguised as cheese. 

I have eighteen thousand dollars in ready money, and 
I can offer you my note for two thousand, secured by a 
chattel mortgage on my books, pipe, bed and other ob¬ 
jects of virtue. You can sell to me without publicity. 

In tomorrow’s paper may I not omit the sentences 
that concern the old home, and advertise only the office 
building? Kindly send me instructions at the office. 

Your obedient servant, 

James Flower Fletcher. 

This ingenuous ingenuity might have deceived the 
young philanthropist had anybody but her uncle been 
the bearer of her cash. 

About the time that Jim was mailing it, Henry 


212 


Sallie's Newspaper 


Durand was delivering the goods. He was further¬ 
more being kissed. And finally he was being asked 
the question that, as a banker and an uncle, he had 
hoped to be spared. 

“What made you change your mind?” 

“I’m not sure that I have changed it.” 

“But you brought this, bless your dear old heart.” 

“So I did. It rather astonishes me to see it in your 
hands. I really cannot say whether it was heaven 
or hell that drove me to it.” 

“Did one of them send an emissary?” 

“Sallie, I don’t believe that that question is eti¬ 
quette.” 

“How about it, Aunt Jo?” 

“Well, now,” said Aunt Jo, “the New Testament 
is the etiquette of heaven, and maybe your uncle has 
been reading it. As for good manners in the other 
place, your grandfather was a better authority than 
I am. He used to say, ‘If you can’t lick ’em, join 
em. 

“I protest,” said Uncle Henry. 

“I see that my brother is embarrassed. His sym¬ 
pathetic nerve is affected. Biology teaches us that 
this nerve, passing close to the great artery of the 
neck, can make a man’s ear grow red.” 

But Jo had overshot the mark. Henry looked at 
his sister quite calmly. 

“I begin to perceive why my little sister advises 
insane prodigality. It is her interest in biology.” 


March 


213 


Jo’s sympathetic nerve responded to this thrust, 
and her own ears assumed a coraline tint, but she 
stood her ground. 

“Did your partner sign under duress?” 

“I think not. He made it out and signed it first. 
A spectator declared that my niece would have been 
pleased by his behavior throughout the transaction.” 

“A spectator? Did you make a spectacle of the 
signing?” 

“Josephine, is this etiquette, or is it an inquisition 
conducted by the Federal Trade Commission?” 

“It’s etiquette. All the girls in town will wish to 
know about that spectator. Was he rich?” 

Again the Eminent Commander took refuge in 
fumbling the modest jew r el that adorned his fob. At 
last he said: 

“Temporarily.” 

“How fascinating! Was it by virtue of char¬ 
acter?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Wasn’t it by virtue of character?” 

“I presume so. A man’s credit must be mighty 
good somewhere if he—” 

“If he what?” 

“Jo, Jo, you are as bad as ever you were. You 
bait your poor old brother like a little demon. I 
refuse to be baited. If you don’t let me go home. 
I’ll send Hattie up here to quiz you about biology.” 


214 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“You may go in peace, brother. Hattie’s views on 
biology are too aboriginal to contemplate.” 

On Tuesday morning Jim received a little note: 

March n, 1924. 

Dear Jim: 

Let me thank you for not printing the advertisement. 

I might have known that Drom did not need such 
drastic treatment. And let me thank you for defending 
him from that scurrilous attack by the new contributor. 

I liked the idea of the commodity dollar, but the writer 
does not know what a kind heart Drom has. And 
finally let me thank you for offering to buy the house. 

It would have broken my heart to sell it. 

Sincerely always, 

Sallie. 

Jim laid this epistle away with his other withered 
roses. 

IY 

On Wednesday Father Innisfail opened fire on 
Steve Dempsey. But the pastoral rebuke was much 
tempered by the first words: 

Steve-3-12-24-Soaked by Holy Mike. 

Bankers. — It is a doctrine of the Church 
that excessive interest must not be ex¬ 
acted. Indeed in former days the Holy 
See often forbade even moderate in¬ 
terest. The reason was well expressed 
by St. Thomas of Aquino, who likened 
money to wheat. When a Christian 
lends wheat, he is not so unbrotherly 
as to exact one sum for the wheat and 
another for the use of it. 

In modern times the case is different, 
since in these days money naturally 
fructifies, and the lender is entitled to 


March 


215 


a fair return for its use. The bankers 
of Seganku are not usurers, but honor¬ 
able men whose services cannot be dis¬ 
pensed with, and who contribute liber¬ 
ally to good causes. What folly it is, 
then, for a young theorist to describe 
them as fossils, and attempt to embroil 
them in his youthful plans for setting 
the world straight! It is not thus that 
an obedient son of the Church comports 
himself. Let him recall the wise words 
of Gladstone, whom every true son of 
Erin must honor, and who declared that 
the surest way to get into the insane 
asylum is to study the money question. 

On Thursday Father Innisfail’s unconventional be¬ 
ginning was explained: 

Apology. —The undersigned offers an 
apology to all concerned for deliberately 
failing to remove the slug which in¬ 
dicates to the cost accountant which 
linotyper set the take. The undersigned 
however is not apologizing to the gentle¬ 
man at the adjoining machine, with 
whose slug the undersigned maliciously 
tampered. The Editor demands that the 
joke be called rotten. The undersigned 
therefore calls it rotten, but under pro¬ 
test, because one of his ancestors was 
put to death in a Dutch river for re¬ 
fusing to call Rome the true church. 

The Editor is honored and beloved by 
the undersigned, who would be glad to 
see him get married as soon as con¬ 
venient.—Piet Kwekkeboom. 

On Friday John Capps, who knew more about 
radio in a minute than the Editor did in a month, 
was allowed to break into print. Jim however did 
not see John’s closing paragraph till it was off the 
press: 

Badio Achievements, by John Capps, 

BTead Carrier. —Last Friday an audience 
of fifty millions heard speakers broad¬ 
casting from the Hotel Waldorf-Astoria 


216 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


in New York. This stunt was put over 
by combining stations in New York, 
Pennsylvania, Nebraska, California, and 
London, so’s to have them all shoot at 
the same time. Some stunt! Gee, I 
hope what was said was worth hearing. 

This evening another stunt will be 
pulled. The Britishers are going to play 
some music in the Hotel Savoy in Lon¬ 
don and make Americans hear it on this 
side. 

Say, we kids feel like a million dollars 
about radio, and we want to know what 
you old folks can do, anyhow? We 
don’t want to be impertinent or anything 
like that, but the kids in the Seganku 
high school mostly regard their teachers 
as back numbers, all except Dr. Nap- 
per, who is all wool and a yard wide. 

Also, we are strong for the Editor, 
who will not see this paragraph till it 
bursts upon everybody. The bunch has 
figured it out that he needs a kid to 
play with. We hope that fourteen years 
from now he will have a boy scout in 
his family. We hope that Jim Junior 
will be physically strong, mentally 
awake, morally straight, trustworthy, 
loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, 
obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, 
and reverent. Gee, some kid! We hope 
he will play on the Sun team. Next 
month we are going to lick the Manito¬ 
woc Daisies, which is also the name of 
a cheese. Another cheese is called 
Twins, but we do not wish Jim Junior 
to be twins. It is more difficult for 
twins to be all those things up there 
that we are. 

Friday evening John got a terrific lecture, not 
from Mr. Fletcher but from Dr. Napper. Wookey 
sent for him and told him that he was too precocious 
by half; that all his knowledge of radio was nothing 
at all as compared with the uncomplaining faithful¬ 
ness with which his teachers endured the daily drudg¬ 
ery of associating with his immature mind and cor- 


March 


217 


recting his raw errors. Character, said Wookey, 
was the only important thing, for a man might be as 
smart as the devil and yet be a criminal. Wookey 
said that John’s printed list of virtues was superb, 
but that he joked about them too much. 

All of which John took in good part, without try¬ 
ing to defend himself. He knew that he was by no 
means the most precocious kid in school. He did 
not read vile books or drink synthetic gin on the 
quiet or do various other swift and rotten things that 
he knew were going on in respectable old Seganku. 

Next day, having recovered a little from the roast¬ 
ing, he consoled himself by going down to Morris 
Fels’s store, examining the blue serge two-pants- 
suit mark-down sale, and writing a stunning ad 
about it, in the hope of turning an honest penny. He 
showed it to Mr. Fels, who straightway abused him 
for butting in. John lost his temper and told Fels 
that he was a fossil. Thereupon Fels ran him out 
the door and neatly kicked him into the gutter. 

John would not have cared so much except that 
before he could regain his feet two girls came along, 
eating chocolate bars. One was Aphrodite Spartali, 
who could get all the chocolate bars she wanted, and 
for nothing, at her father’s store. Now in John’s 
eyes Aphrodite was simply the most beautiful crea¬ 
ture that ever walked this radio-wreathed and 
radiant earth. Instead of taking after her father, 
who was dark, she took after her mother, who must 


2 l8 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


have come from Illyria or Venice or wherever it is 
that golden women grow. Aphrodite’s hair was like 
a golden cloud at sunset, and her skin was white as 
milk. Only thirteen, she nevertheless looked older. 
And John was never so happy as when he was 
allowed to help her with her fifth-grade work. 
Therefore to be seen of her in this disgraceful 
plight did the more annoy him. 

Saturday was a bad day for John. That after¬ 
noon his cup of misery was filled to the brim by an 
accident, or rather by the fact that he dared not re¬ 
port it. After finishing his route, he stopped be¬ 
fore one of Henry Durand’s cottages to look in his 
bag for a cuff-link that had either dropped off or 
been scraped off by Fels. While he held the bag 
open and peered in, a two-year old child fell into 
it from the second story of the cottage. He carried 
the child in to its mother, and walked on toward the 
Sun office, his indignation mounting every minute 
because the laws of probability had not been 
observed. The thing ought not to have happened, 
and he was not going to say that it did happen. 
Nobody would believe it, any more than people 
would believe that Martin Bock, now in the Uni¬ 
versity of Chicago, had been one of the toughest 
kids in Seganku. Still, on arriving at the office, he 
could not resist telling Mr. Fletcher, who was man 
enough to believe him. 


March 


219 


V 

Dinner at the Jefferson was excellent that night. 
After dinner Jim strolled through the lobby, and 
over to the desk, and glanced at the register. 

He read a certain name, died of shock, came to 
life again, and turned to the clerk. 

“Was this lady at dinner?” 

“No, she had something sent up.” 

Jim slowly mounted the creaking stairs to his 
room. Now there are certain places on earth and 
elsewhere which are never locked, such as village 
houses, the gates of hell, and Jim Fletcher’s room. 
But when he opened the door he really did not ex¬ 
pect to see Blossom Agoolya. 

Yet there she was, golden as Aphrodite Spartali, 
lying on his bed, and smoking a cigarette. The odor 
of it, sufficiently exotic in the warm room, mingled 
with some other perfume more exotic. She was still 
very beautiful, except that her velvet skin was rather 
too white against the lip-stick rosebuds. And her 
black gown, though designed to indicate that it clung 
to the memory of her husband, succeeded better in 
clinging to her limbs. 

“Hello, Jim.” 

“Hello, Blossom.” 

“Surprised?” 

“I’d call it that.” 

“Very much surprised?” 


220 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Well, I’d call you more surprising than the baby 
that fell into a newsboy’s bag this afternoon.” 

“Are you calling me baby?” 

“No, I’m calling for help.” 

“What, more?” 

“No, Blossom. The hundred thousand was 
quite enough, and I thank you as many times. I 
hope it didn’t inconvenience you.” 

“Oh, no.” 

“Your tone rather implies that it did.” 

“Well, Jim, all I did was to pawn every jewel 
oh my body, and blow my bonds to a movie star.” 

“I’m sorry. I supposed that Charlie left you half 
a million.” 

“Take it from me, Jim, you didn’t know Charlie 
like I did. When you talked with me from Mil¬ 
waukee they hadn’t sent me a penny. But I’m get¬ 
ting two thousand a month now till I marry again. 
After that I get the ax. See, honey?” 

“I see. He certainly was a rotter.” 

“Jim, take it from me, it gave me the queerest 
feeling inside when I heard it was you that bumped 
him off. You haven’t changed much, Jimmy. You 
look pretty good to Blossom.” 

Jim shifted uneasily in his chair, and closed a 
drawer that seemed to be not quite flush. 

“You did your damnedest, didn’t you, Jim?” 

“No, I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“Well, anyhow, you did your damnedest to keep 


March 


221 


me from marrying him. Remember what you of¬ 
fered?” 

“I remember.” 

“And little Blossom couldn’t see it, eh? Well, 
she sees it now. Come over here and I’ll kiss you.” 

“No, you won’t. Not tonight. Some other night, 
Blossom, after you get to be a Fra Angelico angel 
on the enameled meads of heaven.” 

“Aw, Jim.” 

“Now look here, sweet Blossom, somebody’s 
likely to come in any minute now. Folks are not 
used to seeing girls lying on my bed. It’s all right, 
of course, but some of my friends have heart dis¬ 
ease.” 

“Let ’em come! You killed one for me, and I 
don’t mind killing a few for you. Say, boy, what 
did you print in your little old paper about Charlie?” 

Jim reached in under the table for his file. He 
kept it in two piles on the long wide brace, one con¬ 
sisting of the January issues he had run in the old 
format. Picking out the desired paper, he looked 
under “Accidents” to see just what it was he had 
written. When he came upon the sentence, “The 
force of the blow was due to an old grudge con¬ 
cerning a woman,” he laid the paper back. He had 
used those words to protect Sandowina, not because 
Blossom had ever meant anything to him. His re¬ 
lations with her had been above reproach. 

“Read it out loud, Jimmy.” 


222 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“It’s hardly worth it, Blossom.” 

The lady slid off the bed like a beautiful gold and 
black reptile. She came and sat on the arm of his 
chair, and reached over for the paper. Naturally 
she lost her balance and lay in Jim’s arms for a 
second, looking up at him with eyes of china-blue. 
He hastily gave her the paper and led her back to 
the bed. 

He lighted the gas for her at the head of it. It 
seems incredible that the Jefferson House was still 
unequipped with electricity, in a town where Sam 
Glendower was selling electricity to everybody else 
and paying Hugo Schmidt big dividends for the use 
of his sauerkraut money, but such was the fact. The 
Jefferson had the best cuisine in town. The Jefferson 
had entertained more celebrities than all the new 
hostelries combined. The Jefferson rested on its 
laurels and continued to flare. 

Blossom read, and laughed. 

“I have to hand it to you, Jimmy boy. The way 
you brought me in without saying Blossom was great. 
And you spit it right out that you’d been painting 
Chicago red. Everybody in this dump of a town 
knows you’re a bad egg, so what’s the diff?” 

“There’s quite a good deal of diff.” 

“Ten years, Jim, that’s all. You ain’t lost your 
looks, and I ain’t lost mine. All you got to do is 
to pack your grip and beat it for Chicago. I’ll meet 
you there tomorrow night.” 


March 


223 


“Steady, Blossom. Seduction of unprotected males 
is punished in Seganku by a fine of fifty dollars, or 
a year in the lockup, or both.” 

“Quit your kiddin’. You fought for Blossom, 
and you’re welcome to half of her two thousand a 
month for the next hundred years, only you got to 
spend it where she spends hers.” 

“Sweet Blossom, do you mean you won’t even 
marry me? Have you the assurance to lie there 
on my bed and propose an illegitimate union?” 

“You get me right, Jimmy. It would be incon¬ 
venient to chuck that two thousand a month.” 

“Blossom, the editor much regrets. The return 
of your manuscript does not imply a lack of merit, 
but it is not adapted to our columns.” 

“Ain’t you the limit! I’d rather you’d kid me 
than have the biggest bunch of money there is in the 
world.” 

“I’m not kidding you, my good friend. If you’ll 
stop ten seconds to consider, you’ll see that I couldn’t 
touch Charlie’s money with a pair of sterilized rub¬ 
ber gloves. I think you must be suffering from what 
Wookey Napper would describe as degeneration 
of the cerebral lipoids.” 

“Say that again.” 

“Once is strain enough. I mean you’re crazy.” 

Blossom slid and came and sat. 

“Jim, you said it. I’m crazy about you. For ten 
years I’ve dreamed of you, and when I do it I’m 


224 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


the girl I was before I ever met that man. I’m 
straight, Jim, up to date, but I’m coarse. I know 
it—you don’t have to rub it in. I wasn’t coarse 
once, only just a fool. Jim, every night you were 
in France, I prayed for you.” 

“I’m a little sorry, Blossom. I’m afraid you got 
me brought back alive. But I appreciate—” 

“Don’t talk like that. There’s some girl that 
hurt you. Don’t think I’ve been looking in your 
table drawer. Whoever she is, she doesn’t love 
you, and I do. See, Jim, I’m down at your feet 
now. I want you. I’ll give up the money and 
marry you before a justice of the peace and two 
bishops. I’ll settle right down here in this Dutch 
burg and cook for you. I’ll learn manners,— 
I’ll—” 

There came a rap at the door. 

“Don’t you think—” 

“I ain’t ashamed. Go on, tell ’em to come in.” 

But the door had already opened, and there stood 
Morris Fels. 

Blossom coolly arose, lighted another cigarette, 
and returned to the bed. 

“I hope I ain’t interruptin’ anything.” The tone 
was the original pattern from which sarcasm was 
made. 

“State your business.” 

“Oh, it’s my business, is it? I begun to think 
I didn’t own no business, it was run for me by a 
daily paper.” ; 


March 


225 


“Mr. Fels, it’s no use to argue with you. You’ve 
made more money in the last two months than you 
ever made in your life before in the same length 
of time, and yet you act like Jeshurun. You kick,” 

“I got a right to kick. I got a right to run my 
own store, even if I am a Jew.” 

“You’re no Jew. You’re a back number.” 

“Oh, I am, am I? I’m a back number because 
I want a few up-to-the-minute pictures in the paper.” 

“You’ve had pictures. We’ve photographed 
shoes and wash fabrics and windows. We’ve made 
your window dresser famous.” 

“It ain’t enough.” 

“Then get out a paper of your own, for here¬ 
after you’ll not be mentioned in ours.” 

At this point Morris had to come to the point. 

“I guess I’ll make Monday’s all right. You’ll 
print it quick enough I was arrested.” 

“What for?” 

“Otto Capps swore out a warrant for me. I 
kicked his fresh kid.” 

“Is somebody out there in the hall?” 

“Yes, one of them uniforms I sold the city.” 

“You ought never to have had that contract. 
Some of them fit and some of them don’t. Prob¬ 
ably fate sent you one that didn’t. But you came 
up here under guard to ask me to see Otto for you, 
and I’ll go at once.” 

“Well, it’s only justice.” 


226 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Jim did not consider this point, for he was already 
shaking Blossom by the hand. 

“Good-by, Susie. Give my love to the folks at 
home, and drop in whenever you can. Tell them 
I can’t possibly get away this week, even though 
the prettiest girl in the old home town gets down 
on her knees to beg.” 

Jim put on his hat and followed the prisoner 
down stairs. Then Morris followed one of Father 
Innisfail’s parishioners to the lockup, and waited 
in a neatly whitewashed cell for the results of Jim’s 
embassy. 

Jim found all the Cappses at home. John him¬ 
self was forgiving enough, but Otto was adamant. 
He could not overlook the breach of etiquette com¬ 
mitted by this person in kicking John Capps, boy 
scout, ad-writer, radio inventor, distributor of news¬ 
papers, and savior of babies. He was determined 
that Morris should remain in civic custody over Sun¬ 
day, till the recorder’s court could decide whether 
kicking a harmless boy was assault, or battery, or 
both. 

At ten o’clock Jim walked back to the jail and 
reported. He sat down sympathetically on the edge 
of the iron pallet and expressed regret that Otto 
was so stubborn. 

Fels nodded, and evidently believed that Jim had 
tried. They sat there together in silence for a 
time. 


March 


227 


“I think, Morris, that if you don’t mind, I’ll stay 
here for the rest of the night. You can have the 
bed, and I’ll sit up and think about the inhumanity 
of man to man.” 

“That’s very genteel of you, Jim, but I ain’t ex¬ 
actly going to be hung in the morning, and I don’t 
need no death watch. You run along home to 
Susie.” 

“That,” said Jim with eyes downcast, “is pre¬ 
cisely what I’d like to avoid. Susie is not accus¬ 
tomed to city ways, and she little realizes how her 
innocent—” 

Jim stopped, unwilling to daub it further. 

“Innocent what? Egyptians? Them cigarettes 
never cost less than thirty a thousand, which I never 
bought any, but the discount ain’t much. What 
you’re after ain’t the inhumanity of man to man, 
but an alibi for Mr. Jim Fletcher.” 

“Yes, I’d like an alibi. I’m not going back to 
the Jefferson tonight. If you won’t have me here, 
I’ll go over to the Seganku House, where I can be 
seen.” 

“You’ll be seen by them as don’t give a damn. 
Now I got to ask you a question, Jim Fletcher. Is 
that woman your woman? You know what I mean.” 

“I know what you mean, and I give you my word 
of honor that her relations with me are such as 
any church would approve.” 

“Then listen here. I had to ask that question, 


228 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


because I got boys, and I don’t want no unclean 
man in my house. But don’t you go to no Seganku 
House. You go up to my place and tell Miriam I 
sent you, and you’re to have the stranger’s room 
and noodles for breakfast.” 

“That’s kind of you, Morris.” 

“That’s all right, Jim. You done your damned¬ 
est—” 

“No, I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“What’s that? Oh, I see. This place gets on 
your nerves a little bit yet. Well, you run along 
out of it.” 

Jim departed, but on the whole decided that he 
would not accept the Jew’s hospitality. He went to 
the Sun office, and lighted it up. 

As for Blossom, left alone in a man’s room, she 
saw that there was no hope. She had been mis¬ 
taken, that was all. Ten years ago he had actually 
offered to marry her if she would refuse Charlie. 
Now he was mean enough to borrow money of her 
and throw her down. That was always the way 
with men. It only remained for her to return to 
Los Angeles and go to hell in her own fashion. 

But, God, how she loved him now that she had 
seen him again! She would go away by the first 
train, but she would not leave till she proved how 
she felt about him. 

She returned to her own room, packed, and called 
a taxi. She drove to the house of the one other 
person she knew in Seganku. 


M arch 


229 


Meantime Drom was in his leathery library, be¬ 
ing talked to by Hugo Schmidt. 

“That is all right, my good young friend, but 
I’m speaking for Mr. Sam Glendower, and I know 
vat it is vich I talk about. I offer you the chance 
to be Mr. Director Dromillard Schmit in the Zone 
Seven Utilities Company. I want you to be Mr. 
Director Dromillard Schmit. But I want my girl 
to be Mrs. Director Dromillard Schmit.” 

“Your family wishes have nothing to do with this 
business.” 

“No? Then where does my girl come in?” 

“She doesn’t come in at all, and her father is 
pretty raw about it.” 

“Raw? Aber sauerkraut has to be boiled a lit¬ 
tle, warmed up anyhow. You can warm me up any 
way you please. You can say Hugo Schmidt is a 
socialist, or you can say he hates the socialists. You 
can make a show to leave Sandowina out, but Sand- 
owina is ueberhaupt in.” 

It was at this critical juncture, when one negotia¬ 
tor regarded Sandowina as ueberhaupt in and the 
other regarded her as ueberhaupt out, that Blos¬ 
som was announced. Announced is not strong 
enough. She brushed by the servant and entered 
the library. 

Hugo rose to go. Drom tried to detain him, but 
the grocer had had his say, and was moreover a lit¬ 
tle scared by the black vision with the golden hair 


230 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


and enormous hat. He was satisfied, however, that 
this was no rival to Sandowina, or else his good 
young friend would not so earnestly have ejaculated, 
“Don’t go.” 

When the room was clear, Drom easily overcame 
his surprise. 

“More charming than ever, Mrs. Agoolya.” 

“Drom, how long since I was Mrs. Agoolya to 
you?” 

“Well, Blossom, I wasn’t quite sure.” 

“You never were, quite. You never quite dared. 
But I’m sure. I’ve got the best masseuse in Cali¬ 
fornia, and if I stuck around here for a month, I’d 
have you eating out of my hand.” 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Will you lend me twelve thousand on my looks?” 

“Yes, I’ll do that.” 

“I thought you would. I don’t want it. I get 
that much every six months out of Charlie’s will, 
damn him. I’d rather live with Jim Fletcher on 
a thousand a year than carry this name of mine an¬ 
other day. Oh, Drom, I’m the wretchedest woman 
alive!” 

“Poor Blossom!” 

“Don’t you get tender with me. I ain’t all in, 
and when I get back to Los Angeles, I ain’t going 
to have much to do with bankers. There’s bankers 
and bankers, and some are deacons and some are 
hogs, but I drew a sort that wasn’t either—only 
just a rattlesnake that you find in your bed.” 


March 


231 


The president of the association of commerce 
was feeling it somewhat difficult to follow with just 
the right degree of sympathy, and so he merely re¬ 
peated: 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Protect Jim Fletcher.” 

Drom smiled. 

“Better tell Jim Fletcher to protect me. He nags 
me night and day.” 

“What about?” 

“Business.” 

Blossom laughed a little and picked up one of 
Drom’s cigars. 

“Perhaps he’s afraid you’ll become a hog like 
I said. Give me a light.” 

He struck a match and held it for her while she 
ignited the long vuelta habaha, her exquisite hand 
shaking a little as she did so. 

“Drom, you remember Angelo?” 

“Yes. I never had much use for the man.” 

“He ain’t a man. He’s the Devil. There’s no 
more pity in him than there is in a bunch of money. 
And he wants me to marry Jim.” 

“Well, it ought not to be much of a punishment. 
If there is anything I can do to help, my resources 
are freely at your command.” 

“Drom, God knows I want Jim. I’d work my 
fingers to the bone for him.” 

“Was it you who lent him money recently?” 


232 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Sure it was, and I hope he doubled it. But 
that ain’t Angelo’s point. He wants me to marry 
because if I do, I lose everything and Angelo gets 
it.” 

“The devil he does!” 

“He does—I told you he was the Devil. But 
that ain’t the worst of it. When he finds that Jim 
won’t have me, he’ll take it out on Jim.” 

“What makes you think that Jim won’t have 
you?” 

“He’s in love.” 

“How do you know?” 

“How does a cat find her way home? He’s in 
love, but he ain’t in love with the same girl you’re 
in love with.” 

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Blossom.” 

“No, I got second sight. But I got to get out 
of this town in thirty minutes, or I’ll do something 
terrible. Will you protect him?” 

“From what?” 

“Knives in the back.” 

“Blossom, you’re upset. You’re seeing things.” 

“I w T ish I’d seen ’em ten years ago. You take 
it from me, it’ll be in Jim’s room. He don’t ever 
lock it. I can see him now, lying on his right side 
in that old bed, with just a spot getting wider on 
the sheet over his back. It will be morning before 
the chambermaid finds out what’s wrong.” 

“Absurd! There’s no money in killing Jim.” 


March 


233 


“Don’t you kid yourself, Drom Schmit. There’s 
several things sweeter than money.” 

“Well, I’ll do what I can.” 

“Thank you, Drom, but take it from me that de¬ 
tectives ain’t any match for Angelo. You invite 
Jim over here to stay with you till Easter. If it 
don’t happen by that time, it won’t happen at all. 
The Devil’s going to Taormina.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Then do your thinking right now. Either you 
promise me to look out for him as if he were your 
own brother, or else I go right back to that hotel 
and stay.” 

Drom reflected. If she stayed a month at the 
Jefferson, she would either win Jim or put him out 
of the race by getting him talked about. Drom had 
never deceived himself. Jim was a candidate, a 
dark horse held back by nothing but a sense of honor. 
But Drom reflected, and once more rose to heights. 

“You can count on me.” 

“There, thatta boy! Now I can go back feeling 
easy. And I’ll lie about him. I’ll say he’s gone 
off on a business trip to be gone till after Easter. 
What would he go about?” 

“He’d go,” said Drom with a smile, “to get me 
in bad with the farmers.” 

“That’s good! It sounds likely. But if I ain’t 
able to make it sound likely, look out. Don’t let 
him out of your sight a minute. I don’t know 


234 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


where he is just this minute, but he went off with 
a man named Fels, who’s been arrested.” 

Blossom tossed away the stub of her long cigar 
and gave Drom a hearty kiss on the chin, just where 
the dimple became a cleft. Then like a vision of St. 
Anthony she was gone. 

VI 

Drom reflected that, even if Blossom was right, 
there was no immediate danger for Jim. She would 
have to return to Chicago and report failure to An¬ 
gelo before that scoundrel would take any steps to¬ 
ward the violent demise of the editor. Nevertheless, 
since in business there is no time like the present, 
Drom walked down to the jail. 

Not finding his man, he walked to the Sun office 
and found it illumined as if election returns were 
coming in. He could see Jim standing before an 
open window, smoking a pipe and ostentatiously en¬ 
gaged in reading proofsheets. 

He entered the office and seated himself in the 
editor’s chair. 

“Evening, Jim. I wouldn’t stand so close to that 
window.” 

“Why not? I never take cold.” 

“Jim, my solicitude about your health is not keen, 
but I’m under bonds to pretend that it is. A man 
standing at a window with a light at his back is a 
good mark to shoot at.” 


March 


235 


Jim struck out a comma and laid the galley aside. 

‘‘Does Seganku really hate me as much as that?” 

“I regret to say that Seganku doesn’t hate you at 
all” 

“Then whom do you suspect?” 

“Nobody. At least there is no danger for a day 
or two. But Charlie Agoolya’s widow has just been 
calling on me, and has conceived the notion that 
Angelo is thirsting for your blood.” 

“I see. Angelo long since informed me that 
something was coming to us both. If Blossom mar¬ 
ries, Angelo gets his in the shape of two thousand 
a month. If I don’t marry her, and nobody else 
does, I get mine in the neck. Is that her theory?” 

“That’s about it. She ought to get married im¬ 
mediately.” 

Jim stuffed the burning tobacco more firmly into 
place, but said nothing. 

“Blossom seems very fond of you, Jim.” 

“No accounting for tastes, Drom.” 

Silence, till Jim’s pipe began to gurgle and snap 
according to laws that never doze off, however much 
the smoker may be dreaming. 

“Drom, I’m a reporter, and I’d like to ask you 
two questions, though not for publication.” 

“Ask away.” 

“First, what do you honestly think about Sallie’s 
generosity?” 

“I think she’s insane.” 


2 36 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“In the technical sense?” 

“No. I suppose the technical definition is fifty 
years behind the times. I suppose there isn’t a 
man living who can define legal responsibility ac¬ 
curately. At all events these fool alienists are 
always getting balled up and contradicting each 
other. I suppose that if a really competent prose¬ 
cuting attorney were alive, he could prove that I 
am responsible for two suicides.” 

“You admit that?” 

“I admit it, but I have your word not to pub¬ 
lish it.” 

“And Sallie’s insanity will not prevent her from 
being a good wife to you?” 

“Certainly not.” 

“And you don’t fear the hereditary effect on your 
boys?” 

“Certainly not. By the way, that’s five questions, 
not two.” 

“Beg your pardon, Drom. When I get to inter¬ 
viewing a man I never know when to stop. Kindly 
let me ask you three or four more, on a different 
subject. How do you feel, these days, towards the 
farmers?” 

“Why, sympathetic enough.” 

“Is that the solemn truth? Aren’t you in fact 
what Steve Dempsey thinks you are—indifferent, 
callous, cold-blooded, and criminally negligent?” 

“Not by a good deal.” 


March 


237 


“Well, do you feel a bit sentimental now and 
then about farmers? Have you got to the point 
where you shed a tear over every mortgage you have 
to foreclose?” 

“I haven’t foreclosed any lately.” 

“Suppose you had to close up Frank Blewitt, 
who’s a one-legged and improvident farmer.” 

“It would come hard. I suppose I’d carry the 
beggar. It isn’t business, but we all get mushy now 
and then.” 

“That,” said Jim reflectively, “about covers the 
ground and ends the cross-examination. Did you 
remark that Blossom seemed fond of me?” 

“She certainly did. She wants to marry you.” 

“She’s welcome to.” 

At this laconic surrender, Drom lifted his eye¬ 
brows. 

“Love her, Jim?” 

“Question referred to Scientific Editor. The legal 
definition of love is at least as far behind the times 
as the legal definition of insanity.” 

“She’s rather swift, Jim, for your circle of 
friends.” 

“Never mind. We have a department of eti¬ 
quette.” 

“All right. I know that a little judicious instruc¬ 
tion goes a long way with some women. I have 
one in mind—but never mind that. Let’s assume 
that you are going to marry Blossom. Think of 
doing it in a day or two?” 


238 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Too busy, Drom. Marriage is something that 
should be approached soberly—I forget the exact 
words—you know them better than I do. Can’t 
think of marrying Blossom before Easter.” 

“In that case, Jim, I’ll come to the point. Your 
future wife wants you to be my guest until Easter. 
We’ll start right in, tonight. Marie has got oyer 
any little grudge she may have borne you on account 
of your uncalled for remarks on Larousse’s pastry. 
Get your hat and come along.” 

“Gosh!” said Jim. 

VII 

On St. Patrick’s day Sallie had a new caller, but 
not an Irish one. Miriam Fels came to tell how 
sorry she was that her Morris had kicked the head 
newsboy of Miss Flower’s paper, and how Morris 
had been released and had made friends with John 
Capps. It must have been the weather or some¬ 
thing that made her Morris so cross with the boy. 
Now he had studied the advertisement written by 
John for the blue serge two-pants-suit mark-down 
sale, and perceived that it was just the thing to reach 
the hearts of mothers. Morris would hire John 
to write all his ads for boys’ clothing. 

Mrs. Fels had more information to impart. She 
was afraid that some rumor might reach Miss 
Flower touching the moral character of Mr. 
Fletcher. A woman had been in town trying to 


March 


239 


corrupt him, but had not succeeded. Morris had 
seen the woman, and seen her go down on her knees 
to Mr. Fletcher, but Morris would stake his store 
that Mr. Fletcher was innocent. All this did Miriam 
impart, together with picturesque and oriental color 
of language, because she was truly solicitous for 
Sallie’s happiness. 

On the eighteenth, the day when the House of 
Representatives passed the soldiers’ bonus bill at 
a proposed expense of two billions, Sallie received 
word that her directions concerning the mortgages 
had been complied with. Her uncle enclosed forty- 
eight postal receipts for forty-eight registered pack¬ 
ages. And he did not reproach her or tell her that 
she was taking the bread out of his mouth. So 
that afternoon she sat down with her checkbook, 
and wrote forty-eight checks with forty-eight per¬ 
sonal messages to follow after the registered pack¬ 
ages. By six o’clock she had given away a grand 
total of $445,600, nearly one-third of which was 
cash. 

That evening Drom called, and she asked him a 
few questions. 

“Do you know anybody named Susie?” 

“Not that I recall.” 

“Has Jim a friend of that name?” 

Drom bent his handsome brows in thought. He 
always looked handsomer than anything he said. 

“I doubt if Jim has a friend named Susie.” 


240 Sallie’s Newspaper 

“Is there anybody who goes down on her knees 
to him?” 

The handsome brows lighted up. 

“I think you must mean Blossom. That’s a lady 
whom he and I used to know. She’s very fond of 
him.” 

“About how fond?” 

“I think she would be glad to marry him.” 

“Has she a claim on him?” 

“Not the slightest. At the same time, it would 
not surprise me if he married her.” 

“Oh!” 

“Now that you speak of marriage, Sallie—” 

“I didn’t. I was about to change the subject. I 
learn from Jim that Uncle Henry is preparing for a 
building boom.” 

“Yes, there has been a shortage of houses for 
several years.” 

“How much does he lend to a workman who 
wishes to build?” 

“About sixty percent of the cost.” 

“Isn’t that rather stingy?” 

“I think not.” ' 

“Drom, dear, I think he ought to lend eighty.” 

“If you think that, I advise you to keep your 
thought to yourself. You are in a fair way to bank¬ 
ruptcy.” 

“I rather hope so, Drom, dear. Now what was 
it you wanted to say about marriage?” 


March 


241 


Drom hesitated. She had not exactly egged him 
on. 

“Why, I was about to ask if you had overcome 
your fear of me.” 

“Yes, I have. You haven’t offered to hug me in 
a long time. But it was not entirely the first hug 
that made me hold off. I wanted it understood that 
I’m a Tsar with my own money.” 

“Well, Sallie, I guess that’s pretty well under¬ 
stood now. Your uncle and I are making our plans 
against being driven to the wall. Was that all you 
wanted of me?” 

“That was all, Drom. Yet sometimes I dreamed 
—by the way, this is canned food week. Jim is ad¬ 
vertising all sorts of tinned stuff, even dandelions. 
Isn’t there some manager of capital deciding for us, 
unseen, what sort and quality of canned goods we 
shall buy?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder if there were. But I fail 
to see what that has to do with a young lady’s 
dreams.” 

“I dreamed”—and Sallie once more saw the lamp- 
lit table with the robin pecking at crumbs—“of a 
man on whom the public depends for judgment as 
to what they shall buy; a man who controls capital 
for sane industrial investment and humane public 
service; a man who is greater than any corporation 
to which he belongs, and considerate of people be¬ 
yond what is required by law; a man who sees be- 


242 Sallie’s Newspaper 

yond profits into the hearts of debtors and the fu¬ 
ture of the country; a man who can produce reforms 
quietly, by his bank or his newspaper; a man who 
qever twists the Bible or the Constitution to excuse 
greed; a man who so brightens the lives of work¬ 
men that they will not need the adventure of a 
strike; a man who fosters creative joy in the hearts 
of workmen, and makes possible the thrift which 
assures comfort in old age; a man who knows him¬ 
self for a weakling, but would give his heart’s blood 
to attain some part of this ideal. I guess that’s 
about all I dreamed of, for one man. I got it out 
of a copy book for him.” 

“Meaning me?” 

“Meaning you.” 

“Du lieber Gott!” 

“Well, it wouldn’t shock Him, would it? Doesn’t 
He ever send you such dreams?” 

“He certainly does not. He never asks me to be 
seventeen kinds of financial genius at once.” 

“Didn’t you branch off and buy cheese?” 

“Yes, but it was a mistake. All I dream of now 
is sticking to business. Sallie, you got my measure 
wrong.” 

“Are you scared out? Don’t you want to marry 
me?” 

“I’m not scared out. My offer holds good, but 
you’ll have to get over most of your expectations.” 

“How long does it hold good?” 


March 


243 


“That’s for you to say.” 

“Well, Drom dear, my promise was not condi¬ 
tional on your becoming seventeen kinds of financial 
genius. I sha’n’t go back on my word. It holds 
good for a reasonable length of time. Couldn’t we 
set a date?” 

“I suppose we could.” 

“Then let us say that I may claim you or you 
may claim me at any time during Lent. Perhaps 
the season will help us to decide soberly. But if 
neither of us kisses the other before Easter, it’s all 
off. You never gave me a ring, and no return of 
documents is necessary. I’ve returned enough docu¬ 
ments for the Lenten season, though, of course, I 
may go at it again after Easter.” 

“Very good, Sallie. Is it Easter inclusive?” 

“No, midnight on the nineteenth of April.” 

































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* 






















PART IV 

APRIL 

1924 



PART IV 


APRIL 

1924 


I 


PRIL came, and Sallie was busy answering 



letters of gratitude. Some were blotted, 


most were ungrammatical, one was stained 
with tears. Sallie had not realized the limitations 
of written speech. Many women made the trip to 
her to say what they could not say on paper, and 
among them was Mrs. Hiller, fierce in thanks. Mor¬ 
gan Roberts brought his bride to see the girl who 
had made his marriage possible. Lorena wrote her 
a poem the like of which is hardly to be found in 
any anthology. And Frank Blewitt, diminished in 
body but bigger than ever in soul, sent her a pres¬ 
ent. It was nothing less impossible than Robert 
Burns Ayrshire, who had no more business in a 
city than a wild one has. 

Of all the early events of April, two gave Jim 
the most food for thought, but it was thought that 
led nowhere. 

The first was the decision of the Supreme Court 
that states cannot compel railroads to abolish grade 
crossings. Doubtless this arrested his attention be¬ 
cause Sallie’s parents had been killed at a grade 


247 


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Sallie’s Newspaper 


crossing. But he linked it up with other things. 
He knew that Chicago was killing an average of 
two persons a day by automobiles. He looked in 
vain for any special sign of compunction on the part 
of Chicago. The Tribune did indeed keep daily 
tab on these deaths, and constantly referred to them 
with indignation, and various efforts were made by 
the police and by automobile clubs, but what Jim 
looked for in vain was a public sense of the sacred¬ 
ness of life. When he talked about it with the best 
automobile dealer in town, Hugo Langsam said: 
“Chicago thinks that two deaths a day are of no 
importance compared with the money and the pleas¬ 
ure she gets out of automobiles.” How Hugo knew 
so much about the mind of Chicago was not clear. 
It seemed to Jim that Chicago had not thought far 
enough to know what she thought. Yet without 
shadow of doubt most of those daily deaths were 
preventable. 

He associated the decision with an earlier decision 
of the same Court, that declared child labor laws 
unconstitutional. Now in a certain sort of child 
labor Jim heartily believed. He felt very certain 
that Taliesin Glendower ought to have been set to 
shoveling furnace slag, a part of each day, for the 
Seganku Electric Company. Taliesin had always 
had too much pocket money and too little knowl¬ 
edge of how money is earned. Nor did Jim wish 
to accuse the Supreme Court of callous cruelty. He 


April 


249 


recognized that Congress was competent to revise 
the Constitution so as to regulate child labor, and 
he had no desire to saddle Congress with the duties 
of the Supreme Court. 

The other piece of news that plunged him deep in 
unavailing thought came through a remark of 
Drom’s. At breakfast one morning the banker said 
that the New York Bankers Trust Company cal¬ 
culated the cost of the war at eighty-one billions, 
gold. Eighty-one billions! Jim had known that 
the amount must be something like that, but the ac¬ 
tual figures froze him like the distance between two 
stars. What sense of the sacredness of life could 
there be in a race that spent for slaughter these 
sums that no man could realize? What could he 
say of himself, who had been as keen as anybody 
to kill Germans? Nay, he knew that the lust to 
kill had not yet left him. 

No use writing an editorial on any such subject. 
People were very tired of hearing about the war. 
The race that had killed ten million of its finest 
boys outright, not to mention twice as many more 
by lingering deaths, had no serious qualms of con¬ 
science. People had forgotten that everyone of 
those boys had deliberately been taught bayonet 
practice—that is to say, callous cruelty. At the time 
he had thought callous cruelty justified, and maybe 
it was, but where was the limit of self-justification? 
Every criminal in the world felt himself justified. 


25 o 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


As for what might have been done with those 
eighty-one billions to make callous cruelty impos¬ 
sible, he dared not think. If colleges could have 
prevented it, there might have been a hundred and 
sixty million more colleges than there are. If psy¬ 
chological laboratories could have prevented it, every 
German, French, and English boy could have been 
supported, studied, and guarded from infancy to 
manhood—only the process would have had to be¬ 
gin about the year i860. 

He felt like a moron among morons. He remem¬ 
bered Wookey’s sarcastic remark, “There is no 
world as yet; there are only Foxhall men and 
Rhodesian girls.” But it would be idiotic to set 
himself above a race which could boast so many 
better specimens than he. It was only in this mat¬ 
ter of unconscious cruelty that men and women 
were savages. They were ingenious enough in the 
conquest of nature. They could make an automo¬ 
bile for every fourth family, and could cast their 
voices afar through intense ethereal fields of in¬ 
finite space. They were clever enough to have pre¬ 
vented the war. War was preventable. 

But he doubted if it would ever be prevented. 
To judge other human beings by himself, the race 
likes to take a chance. The boy in the car thinks he 
can pass the other fellow without risk. The man 
thinks he can cheat without doing any damage. And 
when nerves have been sufficiently strained by mo- 


April 


251 


notony or overstimulated by luxury, the madness will 
come again. Jim began to think that in 1918 he had 
been as insane as if he had been incarcerated in any 
asylum. But in France it had made no difference— 
it had not been noted in him, for all had been as 
mad as he, and no madman thinks himself mad. 

II 

Meanwhile Wookey occasionally turned in an¬ 
other of his anthropological studies. For instance, 
on the seventh he drew a portrait which everybody 
recognized as that of Sam Glendower, president of 
the Zone Seven Utilities Company: 

Seganku Types. —We study today a 
typical Celt, S. G. He is only forty- 
three years old. He is about five feet 
nine inches in height, broadly built, 
with a good thick trunk, but very light 
on his feet. There is plenty of room 
in his thorax and abdomen for his vis¬ 
cera, and they pump up blood to his 
brain very rapidly. When the fit for 
work is on him he is like an animal in 
blood or a dynamo at high speed. His 
hair is curly, his brow is square, his 
eyes flash. If he did not shave, he 
would look like Santa Claus on Santa 
Claus’s busiest day. 

By common consent he is one of the 
ablest business men in Seganku, if not 
the ablest. He is here, there, and every¬ 
where. When he touches an electric 
plant the voltage shoots up, old rolling 
stock is scrapped, new wheels and new 
coaches make their appearance, and divi¬ 
dends begin to mount. Towns that be¬ 
lieved in municipal ownership change 
their minds and surrender at will. The 
extraordinary thing is that he cares 
only for the game, not for the divi¬ 
dends. He is probably worth a million, 


252 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


but neither he nor anybody else knows. 
He gives whenever he is asked to give, 
but may or may not have been inside 
the Glendower Public Library since the 
day it was dedicated by the eisteddfodd 
singers. His wife’s garden includes the 
finest stand of native orchids to be 
found in the state, if not in the nation. 

Like every other Celt he has a good 
deal of imagination, and he probably 
sees the whole state of Wisconsin as 
his oyster, which he will open at his 
leisure. I sometimes think that he does 
things in the most indirect and compli¬ 
cated way, just for the pleasure of 
solving the puzzle. No enemy’s cipher 
would long withstand the mystery-lov¬ 
ing ingenuity of his mind. Indeed his 
fondness for mystery makes him the 
least seen of all the busy men in town. 
He has served as the president of a 
club of good fellows, and enchanted all 
by his brilliant wit when present, but 
I understand that the vice president, D. 
S., was oftenest called upon to preside. 

Like most successful business men in 
America, S. G. made a humble start. 
I say in America, because in England 
the system is different; it is a point of 
pride with an Englishman to educate 
his son into the family business and 
early give him some responsibility. The 
family of S. G. has lived in America 
for several generations, but never could 
keep any money till S. G. arrived. He 
began life in a shoe store, speedily be¬ 
came its manager, and continued such 
until he had educated his two younger 
brothers. It was assuming this family 
responsibility that made a man of him. 
Once his brothers were educated, he felt 
free to take a few chances. He soon 
saw the possibilities of electric power, 
and advanced by leaps and bounds, al¬ 
ways taking a chance but landing fortu¬ 
nately through natural sureness of eye¬ 
sight. His methods are so swift that, 
in comparison with most business men 
in Seganku, he is like a high-power car 
passing a cart.— TV. N. 


April 253 

On the eighth Steve retorted in Hibernian fash- 


The Pillory. —The Pillory Man is not 
an old pupil of the Scientific Editor and 
does not hesitate to sass him back. Yes¬ 
terday the S. E. went a long way out of 
his natural route to praise S. G., whom 
he calls a typical Celt. I’ll bet gold 
money—if I can get hold of some in 
exchange for paper, which isn’t likely— 
that when the S. E. is confronted by a 
lot of skulls out of any English charnel 
house, he won’t be able to tell a Celt 
from a Saxon. Believe me, most of this 
anthropology is bunk. These anthropol¬ 
ogists would have you believe that they 
can tell by looking at a man whether 
he ought to be hanged. They never tell 
you so before the man is brought up 
for trial. As soon as he’s arrested, how¬ 
ever, and it’s proved on him that he 
killed somebody, then sure they knew 
it all along. His eyes weren’t mates, 
or his ears didn’t join on right. Why 
didn’t they find it out when the cut¬ 
throat was in high school? Good reason 
why. If they applied their silly measure¬ 
ments seriously, half the best citizens 
would be in the bug-house. Say, look 
at what they call the eminent divines. 
Ain’t half of them criminal types? 
And as for bankers—that smooth, hand¬ 
some sort—used to be lots of them on 
the old Mississippi steamboats keeping 
faro banks. 

Which brings me to my subject. 
Banking is the most profitable business 
on earth. It is good for twenty-eight 
percent right along. Why are a million 
men out of work today in England? 
Bankers. They won’t let them pay their 
debts. What bankers want is interest, 
not payment of principal. Those mil¬ 
lion men could make enough goods to 
haul England out of the hole, but the 
bankers would rather that the govern¬ 
ment would feed the poor devils. And 
then they hold up their hands in holy 
horror at the socialists and bolsheviks 
they are daily creating. 

Now don’t get me wrong, learned S. E. 


25 4 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


There are lots of honest bankers. H. D. 
is honest, and so is D. S., compared with 
whom the Pillory Man is said to be as a 
high school kid to Sir Isaac Newton. 

I don’t know Sir Isaac. He was Eng¬ 
lish and I’m Irish, and the Irish have 
a special gift for not understanding the 
English. But I’ve read that Sir Isaac 
once called a servant and told him to 
remove the grate from the room because 
it was burning his knees. The servant 
humbly inquired why the great Sir Isaac 
didn’t move his chair back. The high¬ 
brow looked surprised and said he 
hadn’t thought of that. 

The moral is as follows, namely and 
to wit: The hot fire is gold money, 
rigid and unyielding. It tyrannizes even 
over the wise. We’ve got most of the 
world’s gold in America just now, and 
we think it makes us rich. Suppose 
England should demonetize gold, as it 
has a perfect legal right to do. America 
would go to war so quick that the circus 
of 1917 would seem like a funeral pro¬ 
cession. You’re going to have war, old 
honey boy, as long as you turn up your 
nose at the adjustable index-number 
dollar. 

(Editorial Note .—We venture to remind 
the Pillory Man that, one common form 
of insanity is the fixed idea. When a 
man begins to write on anthropology and 
ends on finance, he should see his physi¬ 
cian. Also he should avoid attending 
funerals, lest at some pause in the serv¬ 
ice he should feel the impulse to arise 
and offer a few remarks on the adjusta¬ 
ble dollar.— J. F. F.) 

Dr. Napper paid no immediate attention to 
Steve’s attack on him. In fact he did not read it 
until the tenth, when he returned from two days 
in Chicago, where he had been attending a scientific 
meeting. On the eleventh the biologist stepped aside 
from his study of types to report the chief impres¬ 
sion he had received of Chicago. 


April 


255 


Noise. —The Scientific Editor has just 
returned from a trip to Chicago, where 
the noise of automobiles and automobile 
trucks is maddening. Of course this is 
only one element of the general noise, 
but it is relatively a new one, and 
peculiarly serious. Much noise of any 
sort is bad for us. When Thoreau said 
that salt is not more grateful to the 
palate than noise to the healthy ear, he 
had been out in the fields near Concord, 
hearing the birds and the insects and 
the far-off whistle of the train. He had 
not been in modern Chicago, or he would 
have refrained from so sweeping a gen¬ 
eralization. 

It is well known that we get used to 
noises, and that the ear is to some ex¬ 
tent selective. A mother will sleep 
through a storm but be aroused by a 
whisper from her child. A physician 
will sleep through the roar of machinery 
but be roused by the faintest buzz of 
his telephone. But all such adaptation 
is accomplished at serious cost to the 
reserves of the central nervous system. 
These were accumulated through thou¬ 
sands of years of quiet, broken only by 
the low of cattle, the barking of dogs, 
the sound of wind in the trees, the 
sound of surf on the shore. Indeed the 
matter goes much farther back. The 
soothing quality of the sound of ripples 
is due to an adjustment accomplished 
within the waters themselves, millions 
of years ago. 

Our nerves are set to a certain rhythm 
of sleeping and waking, silence and 
sound. No sudden change of the equilib¬ 
rium can be made. This is proved by 
the quality of city manners and city 
thinking. In Chicago there are no man¬ 
ners, but a certain selfish preoccupa¬ 
tion, a certain cruel indifference, not at 
all strange in a city where crossing the 
street is a constant menace to life. 
Again, if by thought, we mean consecu¬ 
tive effort of a mind concentrated on 
a single problem, then in Chicago there 
is no thinking. If however by thought 
we mean sudden ingenuity, roused in 
the presence of immediate danger, then 
Chicago does nothing else but think. 


2 $6 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


The sound of the innumerable motors 
is a constant stimulus to hurry. Night 
and day this rasping overstimulates the 
nerves, especially since the use of the 
cut-out is not forbidden, and as every¬ 
body uses the klaxon to summon his 
friend or family. It seems never to 
occur to a Chicago man or boy that 
within a few rods there may be a per¬ 
son who feels an impulse to shoot him 
whenever he toots his horn. The semi¬ 
invalid may be all wrong to be so ir¬ 
ritable, but he is no less a product of 
the city than the klaxon is, and none 
the less dangerous. 

Persons who have lived through some 
great nerve strain, say the sinking of 
a ship, know that they were essentially 
mad at the time. I have come to think 
that overstimulated students, deprived 
of the steadying effect of manual labor, 
live in a dream that is not far removed 
from madness. In Seganku we have 
tried so to adjust our educational sys¬ 
tem as to reduce this danger to the 
minimum. Especially we tried to do so 
two years ago, when we introduced the 
junior high-school plan. This gives us 
the younger adolescents in a school of 
their own, where they can receive the 
special attention they deserve and the 
signs of anything abnormal can be de¬ 
tected. An effort is now being made in 
Chicago to introduce the same system, 
but I was given to understand that most 
people don’t want it. That is exactly 
what I should expect of Chicago. The 
city is not technically insane, but to 
the eye of the biologist it lacks but 
little of madness.— W. N. 

Ill 

Few persons paid any attention to Wookey’s 
querulous complaint, and Sandowina Schmidt openly 
laughed at it. If there was one thing she enjoyed 
above all others, it was her annual trip to Chicago 
to buy her Easter clothes. The motors didn’t keep 


April 


257 


her awake, or rattle her, or hurry her more than it 
was delicious to be hurried. She had never lost a 
night’s sleep in her life. 

For clothes she had a native instinct, and could 
be plain or gorgeous with equally stunning effect. 
This year she was determined to go the limit. Her 
doting father had given her a thousand dollars with 
which to invade State street, and she had some more 
of her own that she had saved up. She intended 
that clothes should complete the culture which she 
had imbibed from Miss Josephine Durand and had 
assimilated with a swiftness highly creditable to 
her generation. 

She begged Miss Durand to come to Chicago with 
her and help choose. Miss Durand declined with 
thanks. She besought her pupil to be a little old- 
fashioned. Etiquette said wait, and not spend too 
much on a hat when one did go. At this sign of 
parsimony Sandowina found herself reconciled to 
go alone. She wanted the better part of a week 
in Chicago. She would go early on the morning 
of Saturday, the twelfth, by the five thirty-one. And 
she must not be late for that train, or else she would 
not see the Lenten church fashions in Chicago. 

Jim continued to sleep at Drom’s, but he posi¬ 
tively declined to be shadowed. He was entirely 
certain that nobody was going to stab him in the 
back, and Drom quite agreed. They were coming 
to agree about a good many things. Once, as a 


258 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


proof of amity, they put on their evening clothes 
and called together on the ladies. As they stood 
in the drawing room of the Flower mansion they 
were well worth looking at, and nobody was rude 
enough to ask them to remove their shoes to show 
their comparative anatomy. 

At five o’clock on the afternoon of the eleventh 
almost everybody in the office was going home, but 
the Editor was hanging on as usual. He really 
needed a night editor now. 

He was revising the Lenten announcements of 
the Reverend Heilbronn Bock. That highly credi¬ 
table human being, though made in the image of 
God, showed his imperfection by beginning to ad¬ 
vertise, a thing which God never does. The only 
trouble with Pastor Bock’s announcements was that 
they left so little to say at the service. But he had 
shown a keen sense of artistic effect in picking a 
picture to call attention to his next Lenten lecture. 
It was a Greco, and Jim’s engraver had done him¬ 
self proud in making it ready. 

The telephone rang. Jim stayed his blue pencil 
in mid air, while with the other hand he held the 
receiver to his ear. 

“Signature again, please.” 

“A. A.” 

“Place of sending?” 

“Green Bay.” 

“Now the whole again, please.” 


April 259 

“Green Bay, Wis., April 11, 1924.—Meet five 
thirty-one tomorrow if you dare.—A. A.” 

Jim hung up and went on blue-penciling. Pastor 
Bock shrank to his proper size and was hung on 
the copy-hook. 

Then the Editor tilted back and reflected. 

So Angelo was man enough to come himself. 
Fine I Angelo was not half the boxer that Charlie 
had been. His serratus magnus was never much 
to begin with, and it had suffered from wine, women, 
and dirty song. 

It was odd that he should be coming from the 
north, but that was clearly poetic justice. Charlie 
had been about to take the five thirty-one when he 
had been called to take the train that never stops 
till it gets there. The avenger had ridden north to 
retrace the route, and in the cool of the morning 
would punch Jim’s head before the police got up. 

Not a word of this to any human being. 

IV 

Next morning the editor arose early, went 
through his customary exercises, and wished he 
knew how to turn a double handspring. He must 
try that, sometime. Then he stole softly down to 
the kitchen. 

But Drom happened to be awake, and Drom had 
an epicure’s nose for coffee. So when he presently 
heard the front door closing as softly as a prayer, 


26 o 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


he arose and looked out and perceived Jim quietly 
walking away from the house. 

Now Jim never got up in the morning till he had 
to. If he had turned in, rather than risen, at five, 
Drom would have thought nothing of it. But this 
sudden virtue looked a trifle suspicious. The banker 
jumped into his clothes and followed, feeling that 
he had neglected his duty. He had no fear, but 
a promise is a promise. 

The first morning of April was sweet and cool. 
Jim loped along so fast that the Dromedary could 
hardly keep the Chimpanzee in sight. It was clear 
enough however that the editor was bound for the 
Northwestern station. If that meant going to 
Chicago, Drom determined to go along, unless Jim 
could show good reason for going alone. Angelo 
Agoolya was not above luring an enemy to where 
he could handle him. 

The Dromedary finally lost sight of the Chim¬ 
panzee, but soon attained the men’s room of the 
station. He glanced out of the inner window. 
There sat the journalist on the iron rail at the 
south end. He was smoking a pipe most peace¬ 
fully. Beside him on the rail hung his coat, and 
on his feet were running-shoes. 

Five thirty-one. Five thirty-two. Five thirty- 
three, and the station shook with thunder. The 
long and heavy train was in. Drom stepped to 
the door. 


April 


261 


From the smoking car descended a powerful 
young man, bare-headed and close-cropped. It was 
certainly not Angelo Agoolya. It was a pugilist if 
there ever was one, and the whole dastardly plan 
dawned on the banker’s vision. He sprang for¬ 
ward to follow the bully who was advancing straight 
towards Jim. 

Jim raised a hand of greeting, not for the stran¬ 
ger but for the brakeman, whom he knew. That 
friendly wave was a waste of time. 

He slipped off the rail, but had not time to slip 
aside. He was struck precisely as Charles had 
been struck, and went backward over the rail. The 
ruffian made a dash for the moving train, but was 
neatly kicked off the first step by the brakeman. 

The kick sent him rolling. He was promptly 
up, but by this time Drom had tackled. Down they 
went, and the stranger’s ribs would have cracked 
had they not been guarded by the hardest of mus¬ 
cles. But a post, a depraved post, aided him. He 
got a foot against it, and began deliberately to push 
Drom’s feet, inch by inch, toward the moving 
wheels. 

“I much regret,” said a pleasant voice, “dat I 
will have to pull your ear off if you don’t stop 
that right away.” 

It was Sandowina, late for the train but not un¬ 
mindful of etiquette. 

The fellow heard her, knew her not, called her 
bitch, and kept on pushing. 


262 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


With just the slightest air of vexation she bent. 
She seized the lobe of an ear with those fingers 
of soft white steel, and gave a sharp twitch. The 
ear came off, just as she said it would. 

That stopped the fight. 

“I guess you handle him now, Drom.” 

And she stepped aboard, for the brakeman had 
stopped the train. Of course she would have been 
glad to linger with the beloved, but her equally 
beloved clothes were calling. 

The five thirty-one rolled out again, leaving the 
station men engaged in roping a bloody villain with 
a trunk rope. 

Meantime— 

Meantime Drom was doing the sad, the neces¬ 
sary thing. He was walking down into the street 
to find his dead. 

Presently he saw the blood. Jim was sitting on 
the curb, holding his handkerchief to his nose. 

“It’s broken,’’ he bubbled. 

“Thank God!” said Drom, with deep feeling. 

Jim understood. No man can succeed as an 
editor till he grasps the appalling fact that lan¬ 
guage usually means the opposite. 

He bubbled on. 

“I never did a double before. It’s easy if you 
have room. I doubled to the four foot wall, and 
singled from there down. But you can tell Wookey 
that I have a headache at last.” 


April 


263 


He arose, but something seemed to have hap¬ 
pened to his inner ear. He walked like a drunken 
sailor, grasping in his blindness for support. He 
found it in the strong arm of his friend, and made 
his way to the hospital. 

Within half an hour he was on the table, with 
Dr. Schaefer bending over him. 

“Before I say good night, Pete, let me remark 
that we aim to please. If our contributors can’t 
furnish you with material for your experiments— 
gosh, how this blood chokes me!—our service de¬ 
partments can. You can find anything in the Sun. 
Now do your worst.” 

Pete joyously thrust something far back into the 
mouth to let the ether in. 

V 

Jim was back in forty minutes, with a vague 
impression of having visited Frank Blewitt’s barn, 
which was standing on its head. He was also 
aware that there are other levels of illusion below 
that of daily life, and his curiosity about them was 
quite assuaged. They were horrible, not desirable. 

That evening he could not be described as a thing 
of beauty. What was visible of his countenance 
was black and blue. His nostrils were stuffed, ex¬ 
cept where the drains came through. A pile of wet 
gauze concealed his nose and eyes, and he lay with 


264 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


his mouth open. Between ether and air it was as 
dry as the average manuscript. 

Wookey sat beside him, with authority to change 
the dressings while the nurse was absent. Jim liked 
them icy, but his nose was now so thoroughly 
cooled that they had to be changed less often. 

By and by the nurse returned, bringing a potted 
shrub that bore no card. Dr. Napper took it in 
his hands and adored it. 

“Flower for you, Jim.” 

“Describe it for me.” 

“Jim, it is the blushes of her cheek. It is the 
first faint fires of Easter morning.” 

“Wookey, quit drawing on your imagination. 
Give me the dry facts.” 

“Well, young man, the leaves are alternate, clus¬ 
tered near the ends of the twigs, pointed at both 
ends, smooth above and hairy beneath. The flowers 
are pinky pearly, two inches broad, with five long 
stamens extending far beyond the flower. I didn’t 
suppose there was such a plant this side of Ten¬ 
nessee.” 

“What do you call it?” 

“Azalea, which means dry.” 

“I see. The thing is named for my damned 
mouth.” 

“Open your damned mouth. I’m going to swab 
it.” 

While Wookey was introducing the welcome re¬ 
lief, the door opened again, and he glanced round. 


April 


265 


“Another Flower arrived. I’m sorry I have to 
go home and write. I haven’t yet replied to Steve 
Dempsey’s scurrilous attack on me.” 

“Don’t go till you describe the flower.” 

Wookey smiled above the sightless eyes. 

“This one is just as pink as the other, but less 
dry. I’ll place it where you can touch it.” 

“Who sent it?” 

“God, of course.” 

“Wookey, you are the damnedest mixture.” 

“Mustn’t swear, Jim.” 

“How long since? Swore yourself two minutes 
ago. Good night. Thank you for coming. You’re 
the damnedest, dearest old hyena in Seganku.” 

Jim heard a chair scrape, as if Wookey had 
placed the plant close to the bed, and he reached 
out a hand to see if he could guess. The hand was 
gently clasped and held. 

“Morna?” 

“No.” 

“Then go away, please. I can’t have you see 
me looking like this.” 

“What do I care? Do you suppose I’m going 
to let you lie here, thinking you can’t ever—” 

She stopped. 

“Ever what? Have my picture taken? The 
nurse turns sick every time she looks at me.” 

The gentle clasp relaxed, and he cried out. 

“I didn’t mean it! Don’t go ! Please don’t go!” 


266 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Well, I’m not going.” 

Jim sighed with relief. 

“Was it you who sent the blessed azalea?” 

“Yes, I was economical. I wasted no fragrant 
flowers on you.” 

“Does my voice sound as bad as my nose looks?” 

“You seem to have a touch of hay fever, Jim 
dear.” 

“Say that again. That’s a wonderful form of 
address.” 

“I see nothing wonderful in it. I mostly call 
Drom dear—why shouldn’t I call you so?” 

“You should. When are you going to marry 
Drom?” 

“It won’t be settled till Easter.” 

“Will you come every day till then and call me 
dear?” 

“Yes, if you’ll tell me who Susie is.” 

Jim was silenced effectively, but who on earth 
knew enough about that cat to let it out of the bag? 
His smile grew broader and broader as he specu¬ 
lated. 

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a nice 
country girl who was fool enough to marry a banker. 
Oh, not your sort. No offense intended.” 

And he told the whole story, pausing now and then 
while she moistened his lips or deftly whirled the 
icy dressings by their tips to keep the warmth of her 
hands away from them. 


April 


267 


“So that is the woman you thought of marrying?” 

“Yes, for I had a theory.” 

“I don’t admire your sarcasm, Jim Fletcher.” 

“Sallie, it seems to me that when a woman loves 
a man for ten years, and shows fine proofs of her 
love, he ought to marry her. But I simply can’t 
put my theory through. How about yours?” 

“My theory will either go through by April 
twentieth, or else it won’t.” 

“April twentieth inclusive?” 

“No, midnight on the nineteenth.” 

“I’ll be there at midnight to get the news. It will 
be a scoop one way or the other. Please hold my 
hand. Your hand is good for my nose.” 

She complied, and after a while he dropped into 
a troubled sleep. Then he suddenly awoke and 
seemed feverish. 

“I mustn’t keep you here,” he muttered. “It’s 
a long, long road.” 

“It’s only ten miles.” 

“That all?” 

The answer seemed to content him, and he slept 
again. The two remarks, both apparently flighty, 
would have been clear to Gretchen Sorg. 

Next day he was doing finely, and was allowed a 
little air through the nose, so that he could some¬ 
times shut his parched mouth. And when she came 
and sat with him for two hours, he listened carefully 
till he caught one faint “Jim dear.” 


268 


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And so it went, day after day. The room kept 
filling up with flowers, and Jim kept sending them 
upstairs to the desperado, who lay in a common 
ward among six innocents. They had no idea why 
he had lost an ear, and found him a very decent fel¬ 
low, inclined to sing a piece called “Casey Jones.” 
When not singing, the young brute was wishing he 
could get his hands on Angelo. But Angelo was now 
on the high seas, possibly grinning because his tool 
would have to serve a sentence. 

The Editor’s morning was given to Gatty Trilling. 
Jim had selected him again as on the whole the best 
member of the staff through whom to keep things 
running smoothly. The afternoons were exclusively 
Sallie’s. In the evening he saw Drom or Wookey or 
Steve or John or anybody else who cared to come. 
Half the town tried it, till finally Pete put a stop to 
it. He discovered that Jim had been needing a rest 
cure for some time. 

VI 

Since, as Sallie had recently perceived, it is human 
nature to justify oneself, Dr. Napper wrote a reply 
to Steve: 

Frecociousness.—I have read the Pil¬ 
lory Man’s criticism of my article on 
S. G., by whom I meant Mr. Sam Glen- 
dower, president of the Zone Seven 
Utilities Company. The criticism is dis¬ 
cursive, but discursiveness can hardly 
be avoided in an age like this, which 
presents to the mind, through the pub¬ 
lic press, such a mass of distractions 
that one feels struck on the head and 
stunned. 


April 


269 


The Pillory Man doubts whether I 
could tell a Celtic skull from a Saxon 
skull. I share his doubt. Celt and 
Saxon have so long- intermarried that in 
most reg-ions the characteristic marks 
are no longer discernible. Therefore on 
this point his scepticism is scientific 
and much to his credit. 

On the other hand, his statement that 
banking is always good for twenty-eight 
percent is not cautious and not scien¬ 
tific. I know nothing about banking and 
nothing about monetary systems, but 
approve the Pillory Man’s interest in 
these matters. I see no reason why 
he should not continue to study them 
with profit to himself and to his fellow 
men. Perhaps, since it requires at least 
two minds to make a thought, he would 
do well to study them in friendly col¬ 
laboration with some good banker. The 
banker whom he is fond of abusing 
would be as good a collaborator as any. 

My article was not well written. It 
did not bring out the important point. 
Since the word “intellect” means “choice 
among,” and since I did not sufficiently 
choose among the notions that came 
along, my article lacked intellect. 

I meant to dwell on the youth of Mr. 
Glendower. He early began to be self- 
supporting. He never had a cent to 
waste. He never burned money to buy 
himself cigarets or ice-cream sodas or 
tickets to the picture show, much less 
for less innocent indulgences. He knew 
wholesome fatigue. He knew responsi¬ 
bility. He knew the noble pleasure of 
sacrificing himself in order to help his 
brothers. 

Such discipline is by far the most 
essential thing in education. In the 
days of the little old red school house, 
the boys were being educated by farm 
labor. It therefore made little difference 
what they were taught in school. Even 
the most perfect school cannot ruin a 
boy who is earning his way through it. 

These remarks are made dogmatically 
because there seems to be no other way 
of getting the theory before the mind 
of the Pillory Man and those parents in 
Seganku who own more gold pieces than 


270 


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he owns. But I believe that the doc¬ 
trine is reasonable, even sweetly reason¬ 
able. It is an old doctrine, and has 
the sweetness of ancient tradition. It 
frowns upon precocity. Some high 
schools today foster precocity, al¬ 
lowing their students everything except 
whiskers and offspring. It is a very 
dangerous business. Moral resistance 
cannot be learned out of a book or 
acquired in one semester. The growth 
of an oak cannot be speeded up. Parents 
who supply their children with large 
quantities of pocket money, and with 
fast automobiles, are inviting those chil¬ 
dren to go to hell.— W. N. 

VII 

Jim’s hospital treatment continued, and the dress¬ 
ings gradually came oh. The nose was there, the 
same old nose, neither warped nor twisted, but it 
certainly did look bleached. For the time being it 
was highly etiolated, and Wookey explained why it 
so resembled celery. What Wookey did not know 
about the relations of hemoglobin and chlorophyl 
was hardly worth knowing. 

Good Friday came, and Jim was permitted to take 
the elevator and have a serious talk with the des¬ 
perado. Instead of letting the accused be brought 
to trial on that first day, Jim had succeeded to keep 
him in the hospital till he could hear with both ears 
what the judge should say. The trial was now set 
for the twenty-second. Jim promised to send him 
a lawyer, and to write an article that might meet 
the eye of the judge before Tuesday. The poor 
devil said that if he had known it was an editor he 


April 


271 


was to slug, he’d have told Angelo to brush by. He 
drew the line at editors and priests. The one sort 
had printed his picture under circumstances credit¬ 
able to all, and the latter sort were not so worse as 
they was said to be. 

Then the re-nosed was allowed to go home. How 
good it seemed to be back in the old room, no line 
of which ran parallel to the pine sills beneath the 
building. In that room many a notorious politician 
had slept, and in that room the virtuous and glorious 
Schumann-Heink had sung as she dressed. 

But all day long on Saturday Jim remained at 
home. He felt strong enough to go to the office, 
but he was reminiscent. He gazed out the window 
and remembered the night when he came home from 
that emancipating first evening at Sallie’s. It seemed 
a hundred years ago. 

And as evening drew on, he grew nervous. He 
had humorously threatened to appear at midnight 
to get Sallie’s news. That was not etiquette, and 
no more was it religion, and he said to himself that 
he had no intention of doing it. 

He spent the evening reading his bible. He pre¬ 
tended to no profundity concerning the mystery of 
human life or its continuance after death, but he 
laid aside all his levity and looked into the deep un¬ 
known. Surely the final answer was neither tragic 
nor grotesque. Surely the void was not wholly 
alien. He could not think of his mother as mere 


272 


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eternal silence. Surely, as the poet Ethel Brazleton 
had said, there must be laughter up in heaven for 
her who loved it so. 

And down the ages—but here he checked himself. 
The faces down the ages did not belong to him. 

Eleven o’clock. The instinct for news awoke. 
News, even the worst news, seemed high and holy. 
It was not wrong to know the worst and face the 
facts. And if the die was cast, if by midnight his 
love should be lost to him forever, at least he would 
face the Easter dawn without dismay. There should 
be within him a sense of risen goodness, gratitude 
that he had known such a woman. She made the 
future of earth seem brighter than all the politicians 
combined. 

He took his hat and went out, no longer with 
swift and springy step, but slowly. A sweet south 
wind was blowing, with promise of rain for daffo¬ 
dils. 

He reached the corner of Lake and High, and 
was glad to find his own wind still good, but, alas, 
the house was dark. Evidently his fate was settled. 
She had gone to bed without even thinking of him. 

It was all right, and he would be himself any min¬ 
ute now. Where did he get that idiotic phrase? It 
must have come from still expecting news. His 
dead-line had always been elastic, and his forms had 
never been closed till the press began to run. “Any 
minute now” had often saved him from chagrin. 


April 


273 


He remembered how it saved him when the former 
Pope had been ill of pneumonia and most papers re¬ 
ported his death a day too soon. They had been 
deceived by the Associated Press, which in turn had 
been deceived by the secretary of an English cardi¬ 
nal. Learning of their mistake within eight minutes, 
the A. P. had killed their flash. 

Well, he ought to go home and go to bed, but 
somehow he couldn’t, for he had let himself hope. 
To be quite honest about it, he was bitterly disap¬ 
pointed. 

He slowly walked down High street and looked 
at the lake. Inevitably a certain poem came into 
his mind: 

The sea is calm tonight, 

The tide is full, the moon lies fair 
Upon the straits. On the French coast the light 
Gleams and is gone. The cliffs of England stand 
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. 

Come to the window, sweet is the night air! 

Only, from the long line of spray 

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched sand, 

Listen! you hear the grating roar 

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, 

At their return, up the high strand, 

Begin, and cease, and then again begin, 

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring 
The eternal note of sadness in. 

He found his way to a little hollow and threw 
himself down. Ever the same sound of waves, faint 


274 


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surf, and she read it as the sound of human misery 
appealing to her for relief. 

How ought a journalist to regard it? Why, with 
sole regard to facts. Water was water. And this 
water was being unjustly lowered year by year, 
stolen from the state by a city that lacked the sense 
to build a sewage plant. It had gone down four feet 
within his own memory, and it was time he began 
to object. 

Yes, he could write an editorial, but it would not 
ease his pain. 

There was just one thing that he could do. He 
could stand it. And to be quite sincere about it, the 
pain was not so hard to bear when he listened to the 
waves. Wookey had explained that. It had some¬ 
thing to do with nerves. A million years ago, when 
salt water covered this spot, the rhythmic beat had 
penetrated all that dreaming life and tuned it to 
like the meaningless noise. 

How long it had taken for that dreaming life to 
advance to where it could feel a loss like this! How 
little pity there had been in humanity! And how 
long it had taken for the notion of a life after death 
to be evolved in animal bodies! He remembered 
being told by Wookey, years ago in a heart to heart 
talk, that it took a billion years for God to develop 
a suitable body for his Son—a body for the Christ 
child—a tender and defenceless form, with eyelids 
that could wink away tears. That was the sort of 


April 


27 5 

biology that Wookey taught, and if it was mixed, 
Jim could not have it otherwise. It was not more 
mixed than the facts. 

With such thoughts as these and with the sound 
of waves he waited patiently for the dawn. If 
there was any news of heaven, he wanted to be on 
the spot. If there was any word for him from those 
heavenly mansions, he wanted it. 

Staring at the clouds above the moon he repeated 
the word aloud: 

“Mansions!” 

“Well,” said a voice, “five acres is enough for 
any mansion.” 

The heart within him jumped into his throat. 

“You see,” she said, sitting down beside him on 
the sand, and wrapping her heavy cloak about her 
feet, “the kiddies at this end of town really have no 
place to play. Drom noted that before I did.” 

Always Drom. She had come down to break it 
to him gently. 

“So I think I’ll just run a wall across—maybe 
boards with vines—to where it would join the Glen- 
dowers’ brick wall, and give all this wooded slope to 
the city. It’s about seven acres.” 

“That’s exactly like you. It must be long after 
midnight.” 

“Only about an hour. I saw you under the street 
light.” 

“Any news?” 


27 6 Sallie’s Newspaper 

“Well, nothing happened. He came, but nothing 
happened.” 

“What did you expect to happen?” 

“I was afraid he’d kiss me.” 

“Afraid?” 

“Very much. But he didn’t. He only asked my 
permission to marry her.” 

By this time the reporter was himself again. 

“I’d like the details of that. Did you give your 
consent?” 

“Very freely.” 

“Are you willing to be quoted to the effect that 
they’ll make a stunning pair?” 

“You are quite at liberty to say so.” 

“Will they probably appear at his church together 
tomorrow?” 

“Yes, and all her family with them.” 

“In your opinion, Miss Flower, is that because 
there is more room for her hat in his church than in 
hers?” 

“I feel very sure of it.” 

“If you don’t mind, Miss Flower, the Sun would 
like to know if your heart is broken.” 

“It doesn’t seem to be.” 

“But your theory is, is it not?” 

“No, you may say that I still wish to marry the 
perfect business man.” 

“Miss Flower, the Sun would be glad to have your 
personal opinion of the Editor’s physical charms.” 


April 277 

“Why, his nose would look better if there were 
less moon.” 

“In your unbiased opinion, would he do for a 
first husband?” 

“He might, on a pinch.” 

“Be cautious, madam. The Editor is a bird, a 
bad egg, an atheist, a Jesuit, and a chimpanzee. 
Also he tells the truth on the slightest provocation.” 

“In that case, he needs a guardian. If his owner 
should spend the rest of her life in the search for 
statistics, she ought to be able to control her paper. 
As matters now stand, heaven knows what it’s likely 
to say.” 

“These are bitter words. The Sun hesitates to 
print this arraignment. The Editor has been trying 
very hard to be a business man, and to advertise the 
fact within the bounds of modesty.” 

“Well, I think myself that he has the makings, 
but it will take years.” 

“Miss Sara Durand Flower, does it occur to you 
that you are pretty cool and a trifle patronizing?” 

“I have to be, to keep up with such a reporter.” 

“Do you love him?” 

“You may say so.” 

“It’s staggering news, but it’s no excuse. You 
must not let your mad passions run away with you, 
and then turn round and try to educate him.” 

“I don’t want to educate him. I just want to be 
near him and watch him grow.” 


278 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Sara, wilt thou promise to obey the Editor, and 
endow him with all thy worldly goods?” 

“I will.” 

“Take ’em back, Beautiful. The interview is 
over. Oh, my darling, my darling, if you knew what 
I’ve been through this last hour!” 

“I’m sorry, Jim, but why didn’t you come up to 
the house? Real reporters always wake everybody 
up.” 

“Sallie, are you tired?” 

“Not a bit.” 

“Then let’s take a walk. I feel as if I could walk 
a hundred miles. Shall we leave this heavy cloak of 
yours here?” 

“No, I may need it.” 

VIII 

They set off northward over the moon-blanched 
sands, quite unmindful of etiquette. Hand in hand 
they walked, and did sometimes chase the ebbing 
Neptune and flee him when he came back. They 
were so utterly happy, and each so fearful of the 
other’s sacred person, that the nearest they came 
to a kiss was the warm tightening of palm on palm. 

Mile after mile slipped away as perchance it slips 
away in elysian fields, though there be no fields more 
holy than these of earth, hung in the midst of 
heaven. And it was Easter morning, very early in 
the morning. 


April 


279 


At last they came to a stream of water that crossed 
the sand. It came from a deep ravine in the high 
bluff, and they walked along it to the left, to find a 
crossing. They found none, and with lack of defi¬ 
nite intent began to climb the wooded ravine. 
Deeper and deeper they penetrated, and still the 
moon shone down through the trees, which were 
touched with virgin foliage, lanuginous beneath the 
moon of Dian or of Christ. 

Then suddenly the man stopped, no longer help¬ 
ing with his hand the woman who followed him, 
but rather seeming to check and hold her back—to 
shield her with his body. A moment only. Then 
he himself shrank back, stepped down past her, and 
looked up at her. 

“Go first!” 

His voice was strange. 

What manners was in this, to make her press be¬ 
fore him to a ghastly sight? 

Yet in itself it was not ghastly. Dian herself 
never looked more lovely in her girlish nights on the 
wooded banks of Spartan Eurotas. 

The gag had been removed. The band that had 
blinded her had been untied, and lay beside her like 
the snood of Dian when she bathes. The hair that 
was like a golden cloud at sunset lay on the milk- 
white skin across one breast. We have a little sister 
and she hath no breasts? Nay, in the moonlight 
her breasts have been revealed. 


28 o 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


The waist of her is slender, like the waist of a 
woman. And her slender limbs are white, pressing 
heavy on the April flowers that are veined with red. 
Only upon her thigh there is more red than a vein of 
it, and this red is congealed. Now why should they 
have named this child Aphrodite, as if she were hot 
with love? She is colder than Dian. 

Not dead, but better dead. 


PART V 

MAY 

1924 







PART V 


MAY 

1924 

I 

T HE first day of May came. It was one quiet 
rotation of the earth, which in turn revolves 
about a small, yellowish star, and receives 
news of sun spots every eight minutes. There are 
at least a billion stars, the nearest to ours being dis¬ 
tant some twenty-four million million miles. News 
from any of these worlds is comparatively tardy. 
News from the nearest takes four years, by which 
time it is mostly stale. News from the blue stars in 
Orion, traveling 186,000 miles a second, takes six 
hundred years to get here. But who cares how 
things looked on a blue star six hundred years ago? 
Who cares what rapes were committed in the dark 
ages? If Orion expects us to take any interest in 
such crimes as his rape of the girl Artemis, he must 
invent something swifter than starlight to carry his 
crimes. 

Such being the cold facts, we no longer get much 
excitement out of our morning toddy, the newspaper. 
It is however the most pleasurable drink ever de¬ 
vised for destroying the memory, and Lethe is noth¬ 
ing to it. It recorded twelve thousand suicides for 
283 


284 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


the United States alone in 1923, and the average 
reader cannot recall a single name of the twelve thou¬ 
sand. As for murders, they have to be fresh, fiend¬ 
ish, and piquant to last ten days. Hangings are for¬ 
gotten in two, and are therefore little blessed to us. 
The theory of hanging is excellent, and ignorance 
of the law is no excuse, but can we get the warning 
really fixed in the minds of our school children unless 
we abolish United States history from the curriculum 
and substitute daily noose drill, beginning with 
Nathan Hale? Even then it is hard to keep the 
children from envying the fate of Nathan. 

Most of us have forgotten the morning drams we 
took in May, 1924, but on May day there were 
minor clashes in Germany between the police and 
the communists, two of whom were killed. One 
regrets having forgotten the names of those two, 
because in these days of perfect communication 
everybody ought to be interested in everybody. 

On the same day Greece became a republic and 
inaugurated a president. His name was Condouri- 
otis. His election was noted in American papers, 
and if his name had been shorter, some American 
might have remembered it. 

On the same day a Greek fruit-seller named Spar- 
tali, with his wife and child, left Wisconsin on their 
way to Greece. Though these people had not been 
mentioned lately in the Sun, the Editor congratulated 
Mr. Spartali on his successful career in Seganku, 


May 285 

and said that his family carried with them the re¬ 
spect and affection of the whole city. 

On the same day President Coolidge got excited 
and urged the prompt passage of Mr. Herbert 
Hoover’s bill for saving the salmon from destruc¬ 
tion. It seems a trivial matter to get excited about, 
because on May first there was plenty of wheat to 
eat. All over the country the bakers were display¬ 
ing cards in the trolley cars, commanding everybody 
to eat more bread. Besides, nobody believed that 
the salmon were going to give out. Everybody is 
sufficiently Christian to believe in the miraculous 
multiplication of loaves and fishes, not to mention 
jars of wine. 

On the third there was a clash between Cuban 
troops and rebels, and the president of Cuba went 
to the scene of it. It is not quite clear what they 
were clashing about, perhaps bananas or tobacco, 
but he went. 

On the fourth the German elections showed heavy 
gains for the communists and nationalists, though 
these did not win a complete victory over the coali¬ 
tion of clericals, socialists, and democrats. Every 
American should know the difference between a com¬ 
munist, a nationalist, a clerical, a socialist, and a 
democrat, if there is any, which may be doubted. 
But there is not doubt that there is coal in Germany. 

On the fifth the Chinese in Tokyo served notice 
that they expected Japan to admit Chinese, just as 


286 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


Japan expected the United States to admit Japanese. 
This news did not much excite us. We all wonder 
why immigrants do not stay at home and leave us in 
peace. The peaceful Romans felt the same wonder 
when the greedy Carthaginians came nosing their 
way westward, and the peaceful Menominees felt it 
when the cheese-makers came nosing their way into 
Wisconsin, and the cheese-makers felt it when such 
fellows as Spartali came nosing their way into 
Seganku. 

Also on that day King George signed a rum-run¬ 
ning treaty with the United States, in which he 
agreed to allow his ships to be searched within an 
hour’s sail from shore. It is surprising that so fine 
a king should sign such a document without protest 
at the very idea of having to be searched. We ex¬ 
pect criminals to take their recreation in trying to 
outwit the government, and Wookey Napper had 
already confessed his guilt in this matter, but it is 
unsafe to insult kings. It may be, however, that 
King George reads the detective stories of Sir Conan 
Doyle, in which we all enjoy the matching of intel¬ 
lect between society and the enemies of society. In 
these fascinating books the enemies are very clearly 
defined. The maddening complexity of real life is 
simplified, so that even kings know whom to hate. 

On the sixteenth England decided not to nation¬ 
alize her coal mines. The vote stood 264 to 168, 
leaving a balance of 98 against socialism. Very 


May 


287 


likely the ghost of Herbert Spencer appeared to each 
of these and warned them to stand fast. When he 
strayed through this noisy world with ear-caps on his 
ears to keep the noise out, Spencer prophesied that 
socialism was sure to come, and that it would be 
the greatest curse the world ever saw. But why did 
he not bestir himself to prevent it? If socialism is 
the greatest curse, greater even than the dozens of 
offences for which a man could be hanged when 
Spencer was born, he ought to have wrought with 
something more powerful than words. He did his 
best to ruin religion, and then bewailed the approach 
of socialism. 

Spencer left a provision in his will to fight the 
metric system, but he might as well have tried to 
fight the solar system. We all intend to standardize 
measurements till everybody owns a standard car 
which can kill children and escape uncaught. Not 
that anybody intends to kill children. Even boys 
entering college do not intend to kill children. They 
enter college to acquire an education. 

II 

One looks back with a certain boredom on the 
stale news of any Wisconsin town, but were the as¬ 
sailants of little Aphrodite ever captured? And 
how did it happen that she was allowed to leave 
town without being dragged into court? 

From the night when, unconscious, she was 


288 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


wrapped in Sallie’s cloak and carried up the road, 
and tenderly cared for by Sallie while Jim went to 
get his car, she was perfectly protected from pub¬ 
licity. The Sun did not sell a single extra on her 
account, or make a single cent out of her. Her awful 
disaster was of course reported to the police, but 
they were so afraid of Sallie’s money that they kept 
as quiet as the police ever keep. With the help of 
Jim Fletcher and nobody else they set about track¬ 
ing down the criminals. 

And they found no clew except that book of 
Aphrodite’s, which Aunt Jo had presented to her. 
Of course Jo was unaware of having presented it, 
and for a long time did not know of her own sin, 
or folly, or whatever you choose to call the writing 
of articles on etiquette. The book told Aphrodite 
all that she needed to know about sex, and told it 
in the worst possible way, with pictures of both sexes, 
so that if she had not been a perfectly healthy and 
rather slow child, she would have been filled with 
morbid longings to pluck the fruit of knowledge be¬ 
fore it was ripe on the tree of experience. 

Having spied on every bookseller in Seganku and 
become convinced that no one of them ever sold such 
a book, the police showed it to Jim Fletcher. Poor 
Jim racked his brains in vain, and was finally com¬ 
pelled by conscience to take it over to Dr. Napper 
and tell the whole story, which he had kept from the 
Scientific Editor for a whole week. 


May 


289 


Wookey listened to the ghastly recital and glanced 
at the book. It was a new copy, much less thumbed 
than the one he had seen four years ago. He then 
remarked that as a teacher he was an utter failure. 
After that he gazed intently at the hyena bones in 
their glass case. He said nothing more, and his 
silence was so rude that Jim left him abruptly and 
returned the volume to the police. 

Two days later, however, Wookey drove up to 
the police station in the evening. He had been to 
Chicago on the train, and had returned to Seganku 
in a superbly silent limousine. The astute reader, 
since we are both of us almost as fond of plots as 
criminals are, has already guessed that the owner 
of the perfect car was Taliesin Glendower. He 
drove Wookey home and chatted about natural his¬ 
tory all the way, and likewise brought Martin Bock. 

They had told Wookey all about it, and signed 
their names to the confession. The confession con¬ 
tained a great deal more than the law required. 
They had read the Sun, and the rape had been sug¬ 
gested to them by the idea of presenting a book to 
a young girl. It would be only fair to let the fair 
Aphrodite know what real life was like. So Tally 
got one of the high school boys on long distance and 
sent the book by the first train, and the tough kid 
delivered it Saturday evening. They chose Aphro¬ 
dite because she was what they called a fresh piece. 
They meant it in every sense of the word, from her 


290 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


fresh remarks in the Sun to her fresh beauty, which 
was much more satisfactory than the stale charms 
of bitches in Chicago. 

And what was still more shocking, the brilliant 
Tally went so far as to say that he had “put one 
over” on his teachers. The only screw loose in his 
preparations had been to forget that Dr. Napper 
had taken another copy of the book away from him 
in earlier days, when Tally was just beginning to 
learn such spicy things. Tally had always resented 
that intrusion upon his personal rights. 

The result of the evidence was that the two lads 
were promptly sent to the penitentiary for thirty 
years. 

Sam Glendower took the blow in the most heroic 
manner. He said to Dr. Napper that tragic things 
were always happening, and that since it seemed 
fated that they now happen to him, he would stand 
it as well as he could, for the good of the community. 
When Dr. Napper asked him how much spending 
money he had allowed Tally, these last two or three 
years, he said only two hundred a month. Sam 
seemed quite unaware of his crime. 

Pastor Bock, bowed to earth in awful anguish of 
spirit, could not understand why this thing had hap¬ 
pened to him rather than to some Darwinist or 
Catholic or Anglican or Methodist. Father Innisfail 
told him that this visitation had nothing to do with 


May 


291 


any man’s form of religion. This, on the whole, was 
a good deal for Father Innisfail to say. 

Dr. Pete Schaefer declared that the boys were 
as crazy as bedbugs. Jim sadly reminded him that 
a surgeon has no right to an opinion in psychiatry; 
that, in fact, no man has a right to an opinion on the 
subjects which concern him most. And Pete straight¬ 
way showed his incompetence by declaring that all 
Christian Scientists were insane enough to be locked 
up. Pete said that he did not care what religion a 
man believed in so long as he kept it out of his daily 
life. Christian Scientists, said he, were a pack of 
neurotics who unquestionably derived benefit for 
themselves by denying the reality of disease, but, 
said he, as soon as they risked their children’s lives 
they were no longer socially responsible and should 
be incarcerated. 

All this, and much more like it, failed to relieve 
Wookey Napper of his sense of personal responsi¬ 
bility. If he had only investigated those boys 
earlier, instead of wasting his spare minutes on 
carboxylic acids of nitrogenous ring systems! He 
took the thing so hard that he broke off his engage¬ 
ment to Josephine Durand. She had once refused 
him, and now he refused her. He said that when 
the boys had served their thirty years, he would 
come back, if he and she were alive, and ask her to 
marry him. Which of course shows that Wookey 
had gone stark mad. 


292 


Sallie’s Newspaper 

III 


When the boys had been packed off to prison to 
spend the rest of their precocious lives, the president 
of the National Board of Fire Underwriters had the 
nerve to come out and publish the fire losses for 
1923. This scandal-monger declared that the 
financial loss from fire in 1923 was five hundred and 
eight million dollars, seventy-five percent prevent¬ 
able. 

With this news came the news that the dead body 
of a boy had been discovered, stuffed into a culvert, 
near Chicago. A week later Jim learned the prob¬ 
able truth about this murder, namely that it was 
committed by two precocious collegians, the older 
no older than Taliesin. If the fire losses had been 
seventy-five percent preventable, this murder had 
probably been one hundred percent preventable. 

On the last evening of May he went up to see the 
girl who on Easter morning had accepted him as her 
betrothed. It was by no means the first time he had 
seen her since then, but it was the first time that he 
dared speak of love. 

Aunt Jo, very pale but sweet, met him at the door, 
but presently absented herself from the drawing 
room. 

Sallie came down in the black dress she had been 
wearing of late. She ran to him, and he caught her 
in his arms. She clung to him, and kissed him on the 
lips again and again, in a sort of agony. 


May 


29 3 


Then she slowly unclasped her arms from about 
his neck, as a strong woman at last gives up her 
husband who must die. 

“Dearest Jim, I have gone over it again and again, 
trying to decide what is right. I am sure that Tally 
and Martin are insane, and equally sure that Mr. 
Glendower was insane to give Tally so much money. 
But that is only the beginning of my troubles. Drom 
has called me insane for being prodigal with my 
money. I may not have ruined the character of any 
boys as yet, but I am desperately afraid that my own 
sons would take after me in the wrong way. I am 
the daughter of cousins, and cannot be sure that my 
children would not be neurotic. I am still worth 
more than two millions, and if I had children I 
would probably ruin them. Dr. Napper has broken 
off his engagement with Aunt Jo, and there is only 
one thing for me to do. I must break my engage¬ 
ment with you.” 

“Sallie, your last sentence is the only insane thing 
I ever heard you say. You’ll see the error of it any 
minute now.” 

“No, Jim, this is good-by. I want you to keep 
right on with the paper, but Aunt Jo and I are 
leaving for England in about ten days. We’d like to 
get away earlier, but Drom and Sandowina are to be 
married on the seventh.” 

“Suppose I don’t choose to go on with the paper. 
Do you give your consent to making Gatty Trilling 
editor?” 


294 


Sallie’s Newspaper 


“Anything you think best, dearest. Good-by.” 

He held out his arms to her, but she was once 
more mistress of herself, the brave girl who had 
never shirked responsibility. 

She had her way. She had always had her way. 

But it really was a pity that Larsen’s cousin lost 
his job down on the Blewitt farm. 

Early in July Jim became Frank’s hired man and 
began to put the farm on a paying basis. He did not 
at all mind Frank’s stumping round and whistling 
gospel hymns to make his cows give down. Indeed, 
of an evening, he could almost understand Frank’s 
sweet tenor when it sang, 

Go, bury thy sorrow, 

The world hath its share. 

Go, bury it deeply, 

Go, hide it with care. 

Go, think of it calmly 
When curtained by night. 

Go, tell it to Jesus, 

And all will be right. 















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